r 


i. 


STORY-TELLING 

FOR 
UPPER  GRADE  TEACHERS 

CROSS  AND  STATLER 


STORY-TELLING 


FOR 


UPPER   GRADE    TEACHERS 


BY 

ALLEN  CROSS 

PBOFESSOK  OF  LITERATURE  AND  ENGLISH 
STATE  TEACHERS'  COLLEGE,  GREELEY,  COLORADO 


NELLIE  MARGARET  STATLER 

TRAINING  TEACHER  AND  INSTRUCTOR  IN  STORY-TELLJKG 

STATE  TEACHERS'  COLLEGE,  GREELEY,  COLORADO 


Evans  ton,  Illinois 
New  York  San  Francisco  Philadelphia 

ROW,  PETERSON  AND  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1918 
ROW,  PETERSON 
AND  COMPANY 


PREFACE 


T  -    Lif 


This  book  has  been  planned  with  a  view  to  extending 
the  usefulness  of  the  oral  story  to  groups  of  young  people 
somewhat  older  than  those  usually  appealed  to  by  the 
collections  which  have  been  issued  by  earlier  authors  and 
compilers.  We  are  convinced  also  that  there  are  many 
teachers  who  need  to  be  instructed  in  matters  pertaining 
to  :  How  to  tell  stories,  "What  stories  to  tell,  Stories  appro- 
priate to  certain  seasons  and  occasions,  Stories  suitable  to 
Boy  Scouts  and  Campfire  Girls,  etc.  In  short,  there  seemed 
to  be  still  ground  enough  left  untouched  by  the  books 
already  in  the  field  to  warrant  the  making  of  another 
volume.  The  book  will  be  found  to  contain  a  few  well 
known  stories,  but  in  the  main  the  illustrative  material 
and  stories  for  telling  will  be  welcomed  because  they  are 
fresh  and  unhackneyed. 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

In  addition  to  a  few  friends  who  have  given  us  valuable 
suggestions  and  advice,  and  whom  we  have  thanked  per- 
sonally, we  feel  under  deep  obligation  to  the  authors  and 
publishers  whose  generosity  has  made  it  possible  for  us 
to  include  in  this  volume  a  wealth  of  stories  suitable  for 
oral  telling.  "We  wish  to  express  our  gratitude  for  these 
courtesies  to  the  following:  Walter  Taylor  Field,  Ida  M. 
Mqffat,  Amy  Steedman,  Catherine  Turner  Bryce,  Lyon 
Sharman,  Richard  T.  Wyche,  Walter  A.  Dyer,  and  Henry 
van  Dyke;  and  to  the  Storytellers'  Magazine,  Rand, 
McNally  &  Co.,  Henry  Holt  &  Co.,  P.  F.  Collier  and  Son, 
Perry  Mason  &  Co.,  Paul  Elder  and  Company,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Co.,  Milton  Bradley  &  Co.,  and  Charles  Scribners' 
Sons. 

A.  C. 

GBEELKY,  COLORADO,  N     M     S 

SEPTKMBKR,  1917. 


TABLE  OP  CONTENTS 
CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

THE  LIMITS  OF  INTEREST  IN  STORY-TELLING 11 

Stories  for  Little  Children 11 

Stories  for  Intermediate  and  Upper  Grades, 12 

The  Appeal  of  the  Oral  Story 13 

Stories  with  an  Ethical  Purpose 14 

History  in  Oral  Story 16 

Stories  to  Illustrate  Truths  of  Science 16 

Humorous  Stories  for  Entertainment  Alone 17 

Creating  an  Interest  in  an  Author 18 

Stories  and  Seasonal  Atmosphere , . . .  18 

Stories  Outside  the  Schoolroom 19 

The  Story-Hour  at  Home 20 

STORIES: 

The  Jew's  Tale,  by  Walter  Taylor  Field 20 

The  Legend  of  the  Yucca  Plant,  by  Ida  M.  Moffat 25 

The  Monk  and  the  Bird,  by  Horace  Scudder 28 

CHAPTER  II 

How  TO  ARRANGE  AND  TELL  STORIES 33 

Reading,  Reciting,  and  Telling 33 

Experimentation  with  Incidents 36 

A  Substitute  for  Memorizing 36 

Tell  Only  Stories  You  Like 38 

Imagined   Pictures 39 

The  Story  Plan,  or  Plot 40 

Simplicity 41 

Preparation 41 

Telling  the  Story 43 

Si  OK  IKS  : 

The  Bear  as  a  Humorist,  by  Joaquin  Miller 44 

Beethoven's  Moonlight  Sonata,  Adapted 46 

7 


8  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  III  PAGE 

TYPES  OF  STORIES 51 

Fairy  Tales 51 

Myths  and  Folk  Lore 54 

Legends    57 

Historical  Tales  50 

Ethical  Stories 61 

Biblical  Stories   63 

STORIES  : 

Isaac,   the   Child   of  Promise,   retold   by   Nellie   Margaret 

Statler 69 

Isaac  and  Rebekah,  retold  by  N.  M.  S 71 

Isaac  and  His  Sons,  retold  by  N.  M.  S 73 

Deborah,  retold  by  N.  M.  S 76 

Ruth  and  Naomi,  retold  by  N.  M.  S 79 

David  and  Jonathan,  retold  by  N.  M.  S 82 

Queen  Esther  and  the  Feast  of  Purim,  retold  by  N.  M.  S . .  85 

The  Prodigal  Son,  retold  by  N.  M.  S 90 

Helping  the  Master,  by  Eveleen  Harrison 94 

Saul's  Journey  to  Damascus,  retold  by  N.  M.  S 98 

CHAPTER  IV 

USES  OF  THE  STOBY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM 102 

Fostering  a  Love  for  Good  Literature 102 

Cultivating  an  Acquaintance  with  Good  Writers 102 

Dramatization    109 

STORIES  : 

A  Trip  Into  the  Rocky  Mountains,  by  Laurence  Clark. . . .  103 
The  Landing  of  the  Pilgrims  (A  Dramatization)  by  Wilma 

Hamilton    110 

Saint  Nicholas,  by  Amy  Steedman 116 

Saint  Nicholas  and  The  Nobleman's  Son,  by  Amy  Steedman  122 

The  Emperor's  Vision,  by  Selma  Lagerlof 128 

Blind  Bartimaeus,  by  Catherine  Turner  Bryce 137 

The  Worker  in  Sandal- Wood,  by  Marjorie  L.  C.  Pickthall . .  145 

Madam  Cecropia,  by  Allen  Cross 153 

The  Home-Made  Flag,  by  Lyon  Sharman 157 

How    June    Found    Massa    Linkum,   by    Elizabeth    Stuart 

Phelps  .  163 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS  9 

CHAPTER  V 

PAGE 

STORIES  AND  PICTURE  STUDY 174 

The  Life  of  Christ  in  Pictures 175 

The  Master  Artists    175 

Methods  of  Using  Pictures  in  the  Schoolroom 182 

A  Short  List  of  Masterpieces  of  Art 185 

STORIES  : 

Christ  in  the  Temple,  retold  by  N.  M.  S 186 

The  Story  of  Saint  Christopher,  as  told  by  Richard  Thomas 
Wyche  188 

CHAPTER  VI 

STORIES  FOR  BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIRE  GIRLS 195 

The  Scout  Law,  with  a  list  of  titles  of  stories  to  illustrate 

the  points  of  the  Law 196 

The  Law  of  Campfire,  with  a  list  of  titles  of  stories  to 

illustrate  the  points  of  the  Law 198 

The  Holy  Grail:  An  Interpretation  of  the  Abbey  Pictures.  201 

STORIES  : 

Where  Love  Is,  There  God  Is  Also,  by  Lyof  N.  Tolstoy 207 

Old  Pipes  and  the  Dryad,  by  Frank  R.  Stocton 219 

The  Story  of  a  Forest  Fire,  by  Raymond  S.  Spears 233 

Merry  Twinkle  and  the  Dwarf,  by  Allen  Cross 239 

The  Vision  of  Anton,  the  Clock-Maker,  by  Walter  A.  Dyer.  249 

The  Closing  Door,  by  Maud  Lindsay 255 

The  Selfish  Giant,  by  Oscar  Wilde 258 

BOOKS  ON  STORY-TELLING,  AND  COLLECTIONS  OF  STORIES  FOR 

TELLING — A  BIBLIOGRAPHY    265 

A  LIST  OF  STORIES  FOR  TELLING,  ARRANGED  BY  SCHOOL  GRADES  270 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  LIMITS  OF  INTEREST  IN  ORAL  STORIES 

Stories  for  little  children.  Oral  story-telling  is  nat- 
urally associated  with  little  children.  When  you  think  of 
the  story  hour,  your  mind  pictures  a  mother  telling 
a  story  to  a  four-year-old  child,  a  big  brother  or  big 
sister  telling  stories  between  the  evening  meal  and  bed- 
time to  brothers  or  sisters  not  yet  old  enough  to  be  going 
to  school.  Or  if  one  speaks  of  story-telling  in  the  schools, 
the  image  called  up  is  of  a  teacher  entertaining  a  kinder- 
garten or  primary  school  with  stories  of  "  The  Ginger- 
bread Boy  "  or  "  The  Old  Woman  and  Her  Pig."  The 
oral  story  has,  indeed,  a  very  large  place  in  the  education 
of  little  children.  Without  doubt  it  furnishes  the  chief 
means  of  using  the  imaginations  of  children  in  the  direc- 
tion of  a  wider  mental  horizon,  and  fills  a  larger  place 
in  the  day's  program  in  the  primary  school  than  in  any 
other  year  or  grade  in  a  child's  school  life. 

Mothers  and  primary  teachers  have  never  needed  to 
be  shown  that  stories  provide  a  very  attractive  means  for 
educating  little  children;  at  least,  we  may  assume  that 
this  has  been  recognized  from  the  time  when  it  became  a 
teaching  virtue  to  have  a  child  happy  while  he  was  being 
educated.  Perhaps,  if  one  should  look  into  the  matter 

n 


12  STORY-TELLING 

very  closely,  one  might  find  the  skeleton  of  a  story 
(rather  dry  bones,  however)  even  in  the  New  England 
Primer. 

Zaccheus  he 

Did   elirnb   a   tree 

His  Lord  to  see, 

may  not  be  a  very  engrossing  narrative,  but  it  is  nar- 
rative of  a  kind  and  goes  to  prove  that  in  seeking  to 
interest  children  while  teaching  them,  the  makers  of  that 
now  funny  little  old  book  were  almost  human  in  their 
instincts  about  education,  although  admittedly  not  so  in 
their  convictions. 

But  oral  story-telling  is  not  for  the  primary  child 
alone.  The  use  of  stories  for  little  children  is  in  such 
general  practice,  and  the  collections  of  good  stories  for 
the  very  young  are  so  numerous  and  so  well  selected  and 
edited  that  it  seems  unnecessary  here  to  elaborate  upon 
the  technic  of  story-telling  in  elementary  grades  or  upon 
the  value  of  different  types  of  stories  for  these  groups  of 
children. 

Stories  for  intermediate  and  upper  grades.  Teachers 
have  assumed  that  the  oral  story  was  to  be  used  only  to 
supply  the  wants  of  children  too  young  to  read  for  them- 
selves. The  theory  has  been  that  it  was  in  every  way 
desirable  for  a  boy  or  girl  to  get  his  stories  for  himself 
as  soon  as  he  had  sufficiently  mastered  the  art  of  reading 
to  pick  his  painful  way  through  the  stories  in  his  reader. 
This  is  excellent  in  both  theory  and  practice,  but  it  is 


13 

not  all  that  is  desirable.  Most  progressive  teachers  now 
agree  that  there  is  a  place  for  the  oral  story  in  any 
school  grade,  no  matter  how  proficient  the  pupils  may  be 
in  silent  or  oral  reading.  What  can  the  related  story 
give  to  the  pupil  beyond  what  he  gets  out  of  it  through 
the  process  of  reading?  What  kinds  of  stories  appeal  to 
children  in  the  intermediate  and  upper  grades?  What 
are  the  sources  of  interest  which  one  may  depend  upon 
in  selecting  stories  for  the  advanced  pupils  in  the  elemen- 
tary schools? 

Anyone  who  has  made  the  trial  knows  that  the  told 
story  will  interest  older  children  just  as  much  as  it  does 
the  primary  group.  The  story-teller  may  find  when  she 
makes  her  first  effort  to  initiate  an  eighth  grade  into  !the 
wonderland  of  the  oral  story  that  the  pupils  themselves 
have  a  tendency  to  relegate  stories  to  the  lower  grades, 
and  to  view  all  the  imagination  of  the  story  world  with 
scepticism,  either  suppressed  or  openly  exhibited.  There 
is  no  reason,  however,  why  this  attitude  should  persist. 
If  suitable  stories  are  selected  and  then  told  effectively, 
these  children  soon  become  as  interested  and  attentive  as 
any  group  of  little  children  who  are  listening  for  the  first 
time  to  the  story  of  Cinderella  or  Sleeping  Beauty. 

The  appeal  of  the  oral  story.  The  most  obvious 
gain  of  the  oral  story  over  the  story  read  by  the  pupil 
is  the  release  of  the  recipient  of  the  story  from  the 
mechanical  effort  necessary  to  get  the  story  for  himself. 
Not  having  to  do  the  reading,  he  can  focus  his  attention 
upon  the  content  of  the  story  alone.  Consequently,  the 


14  STORY-TELLING 

story  appears  to  him  to  be  a  more  vital  thing.  The 
teacher's  voice  gives  vitality  to  the  words.  The  story 
grows  in  dramatic  and  emotional  appeal.  Last  of  all, 
and  in  this  case  the  last  point  seems  the  most  important, 
the  teller  of  the  story  seems  to  be  creating  the  story  as 
she  speaks.  She  has  not  memorized  what  she  tells.  She 
attempts  to  reproduce  the  incidents  of  the  original  writ- 
ten story  and  to  preserve  its  emotional  qualities,  its  tone 
and  spirit,  but  the  words  are  her  own  except  where  she 
unconsciously  falls  into  the  diction  of  the  author.  Thus 
she  appears  to  be  not  a  reader,  second-hand,  of  what 
someone  else  has  written,  but  a  creator  — "  a  maker  of 
literature."  In  these  ways,  then,  the  told  story  gains 
interest  through  the  ease  with  which  it  comes  to  the 
hearer,  the  emotional  heightening  it  acquires  on  account 
of  the  dramatic  handling,  and  the  vitality  which  the  appar- 
ent spontaneous  invention  of  the  teller  gives  to  it. 

Stories  with  an  ethical  purpose.  Stories  which  set 
forth  the  triumph  of  Truth  and  Justice  appeal  to  children 
of  the  upper  school  grades.  Consider  such  a  story  as  ' '  The 
Prominent  Man,"  one  of  the  stories  from  Laura  E.  Rich- 
ards' Fables  for  Old  and  Young  called  "  The  Golden  Win- 
dows." The  ethical  element  set  forth  in  this  story  will 
make  just  as  strong  an  impression  upon  the  mind  of  an 
eighth  grade  boy  as  the  narrative  effect  of  "  The  Pig 
Brother  "  in  the  same  collection  makes  upon  the  younger 
child. 

The  youth  has  had  an  experience  with  the  world  large 
enough  to  convince  him  that  there  are  two  distinct  powers 


LIMITS  OF  INTEREST  IN  ORAL  STUDIES  15 

or  instincts  within  him,  each  contending  for  the  mastery 
of  his  life  —  one,  the  spirit  of  good,  and  the  other,  of  evil. 
And  so,  while  the  older  child  knows  as  a  matter  of  fact 
that  a  golden  statue  cannot  speak,  he  is  capable  of  realiz- 
ing the  larger  truth  in  such  a  story  as  Oscar  Wilde 's  ' '  The 
Happy  Prince."  He  understands  the  experience  of  the 
statue  first  as  a  happy  youth  bounded  by  garden  walls, 
and  then  as  a  statue  on  the  public  square,  where  all  the 
misery  of  the  world  passes  before  his  sapphire  eyes.  The 
little  sparrow  that  acts  as  the  messenger  gives  the  listener 
a  pleasing  picture  of  the  Nile,  and  his  unselfish  devotion, 
which  finally  causes  his  death,  makes  possible  the  fulfill- 
ment of  the  desires  of  the  golden  statue.  The  bird  itself 
portrays  a  type  of  unselfishness  and  cheerfulness.  Another 
story  with  a  similar  theme  is  Tolstoy's  "  Where  Love  Is, 
There  God  Is  Also. ' '  In  this  case  the  purpose  of  the  story 
is  to  show  that  the  best  way  to  serve  God  is  to  serve  man- 
kind. The  scene  is  quite  different  from  that  of  "  The 
Happy  Prince."  While  the  one  is  idealistic  and  imag- 
inative in  its  setting,  and  the  other  is  modern  and  realistic, 
both  will  be  found  interesting  to  adolescent  boys  and  girls. 
Now  and  then  you  may  find  a  very  matter-of-fact  youth 
who  will  want  to  know  whether  Martin  really  heard  the 
voice  of  the  Master.  Answer  him  with  another  question. 
Have  you  never  heard  a  voice  as  of  a  power  above  and 
beyond  you,  approving  you  for  some  good  action  you 
have  done? 

The  most  common  means  used  by  Jesus  to  carry  an 
ethical,  moral,  or  social  lesson  was  the  parable.     This  form 


16  STORY-TELLING 

of  story  is  still  very  effective  with  both  children  and  adults 
for  this  purpose.  How  easy  it  is  to  hold  in  mind  a  fact 
or  a  lesson  if  it  has  been  presented  to  us  at  first  in  an 
interesting  setting.  Not  only  do  lessons  which  come  in  the 
form  of  a  story  or  parable  make  a  pleasing  appeal,  but  the 
impression  is  deeper  and,  therefore,  more  permanent  than 
if  the  precept  had  come  in  the  didactic  form. 

History  in  oral  story.  The  possibility  of  emphasizing 
the  facts  of  history  by  means  of  story-telling  should  not 
be  forgotten.  Perhaps  the  upper  grade  student  is  work- 
ing through  European  geography.  The  geography  and 
history  of  the  Rhine  provinces  are  inseparable.  Can  you 
think  of  any  better  device  for  fixing  the  conclusion  of  the 
Franco-Prussian  War  and  the  transfer  of  Alsace-Lorraine 
from  France  to  the  German  Empire  than  Sara  Cone  Bry- 
ant's adaptation  of  Alphonse  Daudet's  "  The  Last  Les- 
son? "  The  child  who  knows  that  story  can  never  forget 
that  Alsace-Lorraine  has  been  German,  politically,  since 
1870,  but  that  the  people  are  French.  And  if  the  story- 
teller is  not  afraid  to  teach  an  obvious  political  fact,  here 
is  an  opportunity  to  teach  the  very  foundation  of  patriot- 
ism. Unless  a  people  consent  to  be  governed,  an  imposed 
sovereignty  is  profitless  to  the  governing  power.  It  is 
futile,  for  it  is  without  love  or  inward  loyalty. 

Stories  to  illustrate  truths  of  science.  Isaac  New- 
ton and  the  Apple,  James  Watt  and  the  Giant  under  the 
Teakettle  Lid,  and  similar  stories  will  suggest  to  the  re- 
sourceful teacher  the  possibilities  of  oral  stories  in  the 


LIMITS  OF  INTEKEST  IN  DEAL  STUDIED  17 

teaching  of  scientific  facts  to  intermediate  and  upper  grade 
children. 

Humorous  stories  for  entertainment  alone.  Children 
in  the  primary  grades  do  not  see  the  point  in  a  joke  unless 
it  is  an  obvious  one ;  but  in  the  higher  grades  stories  whose 
main  interest  is  humor  may  be  used  frequently  for  the 
mere  fun  of  it.  If  a  teacher  has  a  sense  of  humor  and 
can  tell  a  story  with  a  humorous  turn,  her  popularity  and 
ultimate  success  with  her  pupils  is  assured.  What  child  has 
not  laughed  over  the  adventures  of  Brer  Rabbit  and  the 
other  creatures,  as  these  have  been  detailed  to  the  little 
boy  by  wise  old  Uncle  Remus  ?  Humor,  like  beauty,  is  its 
own  excuse  for  being,  but  stories  like  these  have  a  meaning, 
a  philosophy,  in  addition  to  a  wholesome  humor,  and  this 
makes  the  stories  so  much  the  more  worth  while.  When 
Brer  Rabbit  is  down  in  the  well  fishin'  for  suckers,  in 
more  senses  than  one,  he  passes  the  fox  on  his  way  up  out 
of  the  well  and  calls  out  to  him, 

"  Good  bye,  Brer  Fox,  take  keer  yo  cloze, 
This  is  the  way  the  ol'  worl'  goes: 
Some  goes  up  and  some  goes  down, 
You  '11  git  ter  de  bottom  all  safe  en  soun '. ' ' 

Children  will  laugh  over  the  rhyme,  and  it  may  well  be 
also  that  they  see  the  truth  of  Brer  Rabbit's  philosophy. 
Selections  from  Mark  Twain's  "  Tom  Sawyer  "  and 
"  Huckleberry  Finn  "  may  be  used  also  as  an  addition  to 


lg  STORY-TELLING 

the  group  of  humorous  stories.  Nor  are  Mark  Twain  and 
Joel  Chandler  Harris  the  only  possibilities.  Piggy  Pen- 
nington's  escapades  in  love  and  war  and  the  pursuits  of 
peace  are  an  unfailing  source  of  humor  that  appeals  to 
older  boys  and  girls  as  well  as  to  adults.  Stories  of  this 
kind  are  unusually  good  because  the  fun  is  shared  by  both 
the  hearers  and  the  teller  as  she  adds  her  personality  and 
her  interpretation  to  the  printed  story  in  the  telling. 

Creating  an  interest  in  an  author.  A  wisely  chosen 
selection  from  the  work  of  a  standard  author,  such  as 
Dickens,  or  Thackeray,  or  Stevenson,  may  be  an  incentive 
to  the  student  to  become  interested  in  other  work  of  the 
author.  There  are  many  incidents  in  "  David  Copper- 
field,"  for  example,  which  might  be  used  as  story  units. 
Recently  a  seventh  grade  boy,  after  having  heard  a  story 
from  "Treasure  Island,"  took  the  novel  and  read  it  two 
or  three  times.  He  then  dramatized  it,  choosing  the  char- 
acters, planning  the  scenes,  and  writing  the  dialog.  Finally 
he  induced  a  group  of  his  schoolmates  to  take  the  parts. 
All  this  was  done  outside  of  school,  but  an  appreciative 
teacher  learned  of  it  and  had  him  give  a  public  perform- 
ance before  the  school.  This  was  a  crude  play,  no  doubt, 
but  it  served  to  interest  all  who  took  part  in  it  in  Robert 
Louis  Stevenson.  And  all  this  started  with  an  oral  story 
from  "  Treasure  Island."  Under  judicious  direction  from 
a  wise  teacher,  what  better  exercise  in  motivated  oral  and 
written  composition  would  you  have? 
i  Stories  and  seasonal  atmosphere.  When  the  Thanks- 
giving, Christmas,  or  Easter  time  comes,  you  are  not  con- 


LIMITS  OF  INTEREST  IN  ORAL  STUDIES  19 

tent  to  pass  them  by  with  a  program  on  a  set  day.  Such 
an  exercise  is  detached.  It  cannot  mean  much.  The  tone 
of  the  season  can  be  induced  by  the  telling  of  Christmas 
stories  for  several  days  before  the  actual  celebration  of  the 
day.  And  so  it  is  with  the  other  days.  You  may  com- 
bine your  stories,  your  music,  and  your  pictures  in  such  a 
way  as  to  create  an  atmosphere  in  keeping  with  the  par- 
ticular holiday.  Is  it  the  Easter  season?  Van  Dyke's  "  A 
Handful  of  Clay  "  gives,  without  sermonizing,  the  hope  of 
a  transmutation  into  a  continued  life.  A  resourceful 
teacher  who  has  any  command  at  all  of  the  literature  suited 
to  her  children  will  not  be  at  a  loss  to  find  stories  appro- 
priate to  any  of  the  significant  days  of  the  school  year, 
patriotic,  historic,  or  religious. 

Stories  outside  the  schoolroom.  The  school  is  not  the 
only  place  suited  to  story-telling.  Wherever  young  people 
come  together,  either  for  amusement  or  for  some  more 
serious  purpose,  stories  may  be  told.  Story  hours  are 
growing  in  popularity  in  city  libraries,  in  playground  activ- 
ities, in  Boy  Scout  and  Campfire  Girls '  organizations.  Even 
the  department  stores  find  it  commercially  advantageous  to 
entertain  the  children  while  the  mothers  are  shopping. 
The  psychology  of  business  seems  to  say  that  a  contented 
mother  who  knows  that  her  children  are  being  happily 
entertained  carries  a  purse  with  a  looser  string  than  one 
who  goes  about  with  three  or  four  fretful  children  in  her 
wake.  In  Sunday  schools  more  and  more  emphasis  is 
being  placed  upon  oral  narrative  as  a  means  of  teaching 
the  Bible  lesson.  The  spirit  of  the  narrative  is  considered 


20  STORY-TELLING 

more  important  than  the  word ;  and  so  the  stories  are  pre- 
sented in  the  language  of  the  child,  the  beauty  of  the 
scriptural  language  being  preserved  wherever  possible. 

The  story-hour  at  home.  The  ideal  place  for  story- 
telling is  the  home ;  and  fortunate  indeed  are  the  children 
who  have  heard  the  classic  fairy  tales,  the  wonder  stories, 
Bible  stories,  and  all  other  tales  dear  to  the  child  heart, 
told  around  their  own  firesides  by  their  fathers  and  mothers. 
But  there  are  too  many  homes,  it  must  be  regretfully 
admitted,  where  there  is  no  time,  no  knowledge,  no  incli- 
nation to  make  possible  the  intimate  children's  hour;  and 
so  it  is  necessary  still  to  make  the  school  the  chief  agent 
for  entertaining  and  instructing  children  through  the 
medium  of  the  oral  narrative. 

THE  JEW'S  TALE* 

When  Abdallah,  the  Bedouin  youth,  was  a  baby,  as  he 
lay  cradled  with  the  son  of  the  Egyptian  merchant,  a 
dervish  was  called  in  to  read  the  horoscope  of  the  Egyp- 
tian's son.  As  the  astrologer  was  passing  out,  Halima, 
Abdallah 's  mother,  asked  concerning  the  future  of  her  son 
and  expressed  the  wish  that  he  might  be  honest  and  happy 
here  on  earth. 

"  Honest  and  happy!  "  said  the  dervish  with  a  strange 
laugh ;  ' '  and  you  ask  this  of  me !  Good  woman,  it  is  the 
four-leaved  clover  that  you  want.  Since  Adam's  time  no 

*  Reprinted  from  "The  Quest  of  the  Four  Leaf  Clover,"  by 
permission  Walter  Taylor  Field  and  Ginn  &  Co.  Copyrighted. 


21 

one  has  seen  it.  Let  your  son  seek  for  it,  and  when  he 
shall  have  found  it,  you  may  be  sure  he  will  lack  nothing. ' ' 

When  Abdallah  grew  older,  his  mother  told  him  of  the 
strange  saying  of  the  dervish.  Abdallah  pondered  upon 
the  mystery  of  the  four-leaved  clover,  and  every  stranger 
who  came  upon  his  path  he  questioned  concerning  the 
meaning.  Hafiz,  the  uncle  of  the  lad,  saw  only  the  hand 
of  the  Evil  One  in  the  words  of  the  dervish  and  urged  his 
nephew  to  think  no  more  upon  it.  But  Abdallah  was  not 
to  be  satisfied  in  this  manner. 

One  day  an  old  Jew  entered  the  door  asking  for  food. 
After  he  had  been  fed  and  cared  for,  Abdallah  listened 
with  interest  as  the  old  man  told  of  his  travels,  for  he  had 
been  everywhere.  Abdallah  resolved  to  ask  him  the  ques- 
tion which  was  always  uppermost  in  his  mind. 

"  My  father,"  asked  the  young  Bedouin,  trembling  with 
eagerness,  ' '  has  your  learning  taught  you  of  a  mystic  leaf 
which  gives  to  him  who  possesses  it  wisdom  and  happi- 
ness? " 

"  Surely,"  replied  the  old  man,  smiling;  "it  is  men- 
tioned in  the  Zohar,  among  other  marvels. ' ' 

"  It  is  the  four-leaved  clover,  is  it  not?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  Jew,  with  a  frown;  "  but  where 
did  you  hear  this  name  ?  ' ' 

When  Abdallah  had  finished  his  story,  the  old  man  looked 
at  him  tenderly.  "  My  son,"  said  he,  "  the  poor  often 
repay  hospitality  better  than  the  rich,  for  it  is  God  who 
pays  their  debts.  The  secret  which  you  seek  I  discovered 
long  ago  in  Persia.  If  God  has  guided  my  steps  to  your 


22  STORY-TELLING 

tent,  it  is  doubtless  because  he  has  chosen  me  to  bring  you 
the  truth.  Listen,  then,  and  write  on  your  heart  what  1 
shall  tell  you." 

Hafiz  and  Abdallah  drew  close  to  the  old  man,  who,  in  a 
low,  mysterious  voice  told  them  this  legend : 

"  When  our  first  parent,  Adam,  was  driven  out  of  par- 
adise, he  was  allowed  to  take  with  him  into  the  world  the 
date  palm  for  his  food,  and  the  camel,  made  of  the  same 
clay  as  himself,  for  his  helper. ' ' 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Hafiz.  "  The  camel  is  made  for 
us,  and  we  for  the  camel." 

"  When  the  flaming  sword  drove  before  it  those  first 
sinful  ones,  Adam  cast  backward  a  look  of  despair  at  the 
home  which  he  was  forced  to  leave,  and  as  a  parting  sou- 
venir he  plucked  a  branch  of  myrtle.  The  angel  permitted 
it,  for  he  remembered  that  at  God's  command  he  had  once 
done  homage  to  the  man  whom,  now,  he  pitied. ' ' 

"  True,"  said  Hafiz,  "  it  was  the  same  branch  that 
Hobab  gave,  long  afterwards,  to  his  son-in-law,  Moses;  it 
was  the  staff  with  which  the  prophet  kept  his  flocks,  and 
with  which,  later,  he  performed  the  miracles  in  Egypt." 

' '  Eve,  also, ' '  said  the  old  man, ' '  paused,  in  tears,  before 
those  flowers  and  trees  which  she  should  never  see  again, 
but  the  sword  was  pitiless,  and  she  was  obliged  to  flee. 
Just  as  she  went  out,  she  snatched  one  of  the  blessed  herbs 
that  grew  in  paradise.  The  angel  shut  his  eyes,  as  he 
had  done  with  Adam.  What  was  this  herb?  Eve  did 
not  know.  She  had  seized  it  in  her  flight  and  had  it  shut 
tight  in  her  hand.  She  would  have  been  wise  to  have 


LIMITS  OF  INTEREST  IN  OEAL  STUDIES  23 

kept  it  so,  but  her  curiosity  was  stronger  than  her  pru- 
dence, and  as  she  crossed  the  threshold  she  opened  her 
hand  to  look  at  it.  The  plant  was  the  brightest  of  all  the 
herbs  of  paradise.  It  was  the  four-leaved  clover.  One  of 
the  leaves  was  red,  like  copper;  another  was  white,  like 
silver;  a  third  was  yellow  as  gold;  while  the  fourth  glit- 
tered like  a  diamond.  Eve  stopped  to  look  at  her  treas- 
ure, but  the  flame  touched  her.  She  started;  her  hand 
trembled;  the  diamond  leaf  fell  inside  the  gate;  and  the 
other  three,  driven  by  the  wind,  were  scattered  abroad. 
Where  they  fell  God  only  knows !  ' ' 

' '  What !  ' '  cried  Abdallah,  ' '  have  they  never  since  been 
seen,?  " 

'  I  think  not,"  said  the  Jew,  "  and  it  is  possible  that 
this  story  is  only  an  allegory  which  covers  some  deep 
truth." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Abdallah,  "  that  cannot  be.  Try  to 
remember.  Perhaps  you  can  find  some  new  clew.  I  must 
have  this  plant,  cost  what  it  may.  I  long  for  it,  and  with 
God's  help  I  will  have  it." 

The  old  man  hid  his  face  in  his  hands  and  for  a  long 
time  remained  wrapped  in  thought.  Abdallah  scarcely 
dared  to  breathe,  for  fear  of  disturbing  him. 

"  I  have  thought  long  and  closely,"  he  said  at  length, 
"  and  I  can  remember  nothing  more.  Perhaps  my  book 
will  tell  me  something."  So  saying,  he  drew  from  his 
girdle  a  yellow  manuscript  with  a  greasy  black  cover.  He 
turned  the  leaves  slowly,  one  by  one,  examining  a'  number 
of  geometric  figures,  squares,  concentric  circles,  numerals 


24  STOEY-TELLING 

and  alphabets,  some  of  which  began  with  aleph,  while 
others  began  with  tau.  "  There  is,"  said  he,  "a  bit  of 
verse  which  is  often  repeated  in  the  Sudan.  It  may  inter- 
est you,  but  I  do  not  know  whether  or  not  it  refers  to  the 
legend  I  have  told  you: 

"  There's  an  herb  of  mystic  power; 

But  'tis  not  to  mortals  given 
To  behold  it,  leaf  or  flower. 

Seek  it  not ;  it  blooms  in  heaven ! 

Patience !  patience !  "  he  added,  noticing  Abdallah  's  excite- 
ment. "  The  words  have  more  than  one  meaning.  The 
ignorant  seek  for  truth  upon  the  surface,  but  the  wise 
follow  it  to  the  depths  and  capture  it,  thanks  to  God !  Do 
you  not  know  what  one  of  our  great  teachers,  the  rabbi 
Halaphta,  son  of  Dozzi,  says? 

"  Seek  not  for  heaven  in  yon  far  azure  skies 
Where  pales  the  moon,  where  glows  the  burning  sun, 
For  heaven  is  in  the  reach  of  every  one, 

And  a  pure  heart,  my  child,  is  paradise. 

Yes,"  he  continued,  lifting  his  voice,  "  I  see  a  light.  If 
God  brought  us  together,  it  was  doubtless  because  he 
wished  to  grant  your  wish,  but  beware  of  anticipating  his 
will  by  vain  curiosity.  Obey  his  law ;  follow  his  command- 
ments; make  a  heaven  in  your  soul;  perhaps  some  day 
when  you  least  expect  it  you  will  find  the  prize  which  you 


LIMITS  OF  INTEREST  IN  DEAL  STUDIES  25 

desire.     This,  at  least,  is  all  that  my  knowledge  can  tell 
you." 

' '  Well  said,  old  man !  ' '  cried  Hafiz.  Then  putting  his 
hand  on  Abdallah's  shoulder,  he  added :  "  God  is  the  mas- 
ter of  the  hour.  Be  obedient  and  wait." 

How  Abdallah  toiled  unceasing,  of  the  wonderful  gifts 
which  he  gave  to  his  people,  and  how  he  found  first  the 
copper  leaf,  then  the  silver  leaf,  the  gold  leaf,  and  finally 
how,  at  the  very  threshhold  of  Paradise,  the  diamond  leaf 
became  his  own,  is  another  story. 

—Walter  Taylor  Field. 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  YUCCA  PLANT  * 

A  dusky  Indian  maiden  named  Ocalenta  dwelt  on  the 
treeless  plains  of  the  far  West  with  her  father,  Owinkapum, 
vrho  was  the  chief  of  the  tribe  and  the  most  important  man 
of  the  village.  Ocalenta  grew  into  a  slender,  graceful  girl, 
roaming  over  the  prairies  and  basking  in  the  sunlit  air 
until  she  grew  to  womanhood. 

In  an  Indian  village  a  few  miles  away  lived  another 
chief,  Wampumita,  and  his  son,  Unakola,  who  were  very 
hostile  to  her  father's  tribe. 

The  maiden  and  the  youth  met,  and  then  she  knew  a 
woman's  grief,  for  she  loved  Unakola. 

She  often  stole  forth  at  eventide  with  noiseless  footsteps 
to  meet  her  bronzed  brave.  Her  father  followed  her  path 
one  gloomy  evening,  and  when  he  found  her  with  the 

*  Reprinted  from  the  Storytellers'  Magazine,  July,  1914. 


26  STORY-TELLING 

son  of  his  enemy,  his  heart  was  fierce  with  rage.  He  made 
her  go  home,  and  thus  he  spoke : 

' '  Thou  shalt  never  go  to  the  wigwam  of  thy  lover  as  hi^ 
wife.  I  would  sooner  send  the  poisoned  arrow  to  thy  heart. 
Yet,  I  will  give  you  one  condition  difficult  to  accomplish.  It 
is  this.  You  may  dwell  within  his  lodge  door  as  his  wife  if 
you  will  weave  and  shape  and  fashion  from  the  skin  of 
wolf  and  bear  twenty  robes,  trimmed  with  beads  of  many 
colors,  no  leather  thongs,  barbed  hedgehog  quills,  or  ber- 
ries to  be  entwined.  These  must  be  done  ere  seven  moons 
gleam  on  my  wigwam. ' ' 

Poor  Ocalenta  was  defiant  at  her  doom,  and  very  much 
disheartened.  She  wandered  forth  in  the  gloom  of  even- 
ings to  ponder  on  what  she  should  do.  She  knelt  down  in 
the  twilight  among  the  yuccas  to  tell  them  her  sorrow.  She 
heard  a  voice  from  the  ' '  happy  hunting  ground  ' '  say : 
"  Courage,  courage,  Ocalenta,  for  in  seven  moons  thou 
mayest  make  from  bear  skins,  twenty  robes,  and  weave  the 
beads  of  many  colors,  and  plait  and  twist  and  shape  them 
by  plucking  from  the  yucca  when  night  is  darkest,  the 
silver  thread  and  sharp  needles,  working  hardest  after  the 
night  is  sped." 

She  shed  many  bitter  tears  as  she  plied  her  art  and 
wrought  with  all  her  might  from  the  early  morning  until 
dewy  evening  to  accomplish  her  task.  Night  after  night 
found  her  at  the  yucca  patch  plucking  the  needles  and 
stripping  the  threads  from  the  plants,  and  day  by  day  she 
wove  and  fashioned  the  garments  until  the  seven  moons 


LIMITS  OF  INTEKEST  IN  DEAL  STUDIES  27 

had  speedily  passed  away.  When  she  had  completed  her 
work  she  laid  the  garments  at  the  chief 's. door. 

With  light  heart  and  happy  footsteps  she  fled  to  the 
yucca  plants  and  thus  she  spoke :  ' '  Lo,  they  are  finished, 
and  before  the  braves  assemble  'round  the  council  fire  at 
sunrise,  I  come  to  give  the  yucca  my  thanks  for  the  needles 
and  the  thread." 

Amid  the  sword-like  leafage  were  spikes  of  lily-shaped 
blossoms,  creamy  and  waxen,  drooping  downward  from 
the  stalk.  These  were  the  maiden 's  tears  that  she  had  shed 
upon  the  plants  in  the  dreary  hours  of  the  night,  now 
blossoming  into  these  beautiful  flowers. 

After  her  blessings  upon  the  yucca  she  had  hastened  with 
airy  footsteps  to  spread  before  the  astonished  council  the 
robes  of  skin  and  beads.  Entangled  in  each  stitch  was  a 
prayer  to  the  Great  Spirit  that  these  would  appease  the 
father's  wrath. 

When  Chief  Owinkapum  found  the  robes  at  his  lodge 
door  he  plotted  his  revenge,  for  he  sent  a  messenger  to 
Unakola's  tent  and  asked  for  a  hearing.  He  came,  unsus- 
pecting of  evil,  and  was  stricken  down  by  the  chief 's  orders, 
within  the  tent  door.  The  chief  then  went  to  the  council 
as  though  nothing  unusual  had  occurred.  The  other  braves 
knew  nothing  of  the  tragedy  and  were  surprised  to  see  the 
twenty  beautiful  robes  spread  out  before  them  by  the 
Indian  princess. 

Ocalenta  left  them  with  a  gay  heart  and  stepped  into 
the  tent  of  her  father.  Then  her  cheek  blanched  and  her 


28  STORY-TELLING 

heart-throbs  stifled  her  speech  for  a  brief  time,  when  she 
saw  Unakola  lying  dead  upon  the  floor,  stricken  by  her 
father's  orders.  When  her  speech  returned,  she  uttered  the 
cry,  ' '  Unakola !  Unakola !  ' '  and  fled  from  the  lodge  into 
the  wilderness  where  no  human  footsteps  might  tread. 
All  reason  was  gone  with  the  wild  frenzy  that  checked  feel- 
ing, hearing,  and  sight,  so  great  was  her  grief.  She  threw 
herself  upon  the  burning  sands  to  perish. 

They  missed  her  and  started  out  to  search  for  her.  Days 
passed,  but  finally  they  found  her,  lifeless  and  wan  upon 
the  sands  of  the  plain. 

Her  father's  heart  was  melted,  and  he  had  her  brought 
back  to  his  tent,  and  from  his  wigwam  they  carried  her 
body  and  laid  it  beneath,  the  yucca  blossoms  in  the  early, 
dewy  morn. 

All  over  the  plains  of  our  vast  West  are  the  "  needle 
and  thread  "  plant  of  the  Indian  girl,  with  their  creamy 
tear  blossoms. 

—IdaM.  Moffat. 


There  was  an  old  monk  who  had  led  a  holy  life,  doing 
good  all  his  days.  And  one  reason  why  he  had  done  good 
was  because  he  lived  much  with  God. 

Early  in  the  morning,  before  others  had  risen,  he  was 
on  his  knees  praying  to  the  Father  of  all,  giving  thanks 

"Used  by  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with, 
Houghton  Miffin  Company.  Copyright,  1899. 


LIMITS  OF  INTEREST  IN  OEAL  STUDIES  29 

for  all  his  mercies,  and  asking  for  grace  to  lead  a  holy  life 
that  day.  And  late  at  night,  when  others  slept,  he  lingered 
long  on  his  knees,  talking  with  God  as  with  his  dearest 
friend. 

Not  only  did  this  monk  pray  in  the  chapel  and  by  the 
side  of  his  narrow  bed,  but  as  he  walked  about  doing  good 
deeds  his  lips  moved,  and  he  scarcely  saw  anyone  else,  for 
he  was  praying  in  silence. 

So  when  he  was  an  old,  old  man,  he  was  one  day  in  the 
garden  of  the  monastery.  He  was  too  old  and  feeble  now 
to  go  away  amongst  the  poor  and  sick;  but  the  poor  and 
sick,  young  and  old,  were  glad  they  could  come  to  him 
and  receive  his  blessing. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning  hour  in  early  summer,  and  the 
garden  was  sweet  with  the  odor  of  roses.  The  old  monk 
had  been  helped  out  to  a  garden  bench,  and  there  left. 
When  he  was  alone  he  sank  upon  his  knees  by  the  bench, 
and  lifted  his  peaceful  soul  in  prayer  and  praise. 

As  he  prayed,  there  came  a  sweet,  pure  note  to  his  ear. 
He  knew  it  for  the  voice  of  one  of  God's  happy  creatures-, 
and  as  he  prayed,  he  listened  with  a  smile  to  this  bird 
singing  in  one  of  the  rose  trees  in  the  garden. 

The  note  so  filled  his  soul  that  he  rose  from  his  knees 
to  listen  to  the  song.  He  rested  his  hands  on  his  stout 
stick  and  listened.  Then  he  drew  near  the  rose  tree  from 
which  the  song  came. 

As  he  drew  near,  the  little  bird  continued  singing  and 
then  fled  to  a  grove  farther  away,  and  again  began  calling 
with  its  sweet  note.  The  old  monk,  forgetting  everything 


30  STORY-TELLING 

else,  eagerly  pressed  forward.  It  was  as  if  he  heard 
some  bird  of  God. 

Oh,  rapture!  he  neared  the  bird  again  and  heard  the 
pure  notes  sounding  clearer  and  clearer.  Once  more  the 
bird  filled  his  soul,  and  he  listened,  listened.  Then  away 
flew  the  bird,  and  led  him  by  its  song  to  a  farther  grove. 
Still  the  old  man  pressed  on. 

Thus  hour  by  hour  the  heavenly  bird  sang,  and  hour  by 
hour  the  old  monk  listened  intent.  But  at  last  the  bird's 
song  grew  gentler,  until  it  ceased  altogether.  The  day 
was  nearing  its  close. 

Then  the  happy  old  man  set  his  face  westward,  and  made 
his  way  back  toward  the  monastery,  carrying  the  mem- 
ory of  the  song  which  mingled  with  his  prayer,  so  that  he 
scarce  knew  whether  he  was  praying  or  listening  to  the 
music. 

It  was  nightfall  when  he  found  himself  once  again  within 
the  garden;  in  the  evening  light  he  looked  about  him  at 
the  old  scene.  There  was  the  convent,  there  was  the  gar- 
den, and  yet  nothing  looked  quite  as  when  he  had  left  the 
place. 

As  he  stood  wondering,  a  brother  monk  drew  near.  He 
wore  the  familiar  dress;  yet  his  face  seemed  strange. 
Well  as  our  old  monk  knew  all  the  brethren,  this  newcomer 
he  could  not  remember  ever  to  have  seen.  But  he  must 
needs  speak  to  him,  and  he  asked :  ' '  What  has  happened  ? 
Why  is  it  that  everything  looks  so  changed  since  morning  ? 
What  has  taken  place?  But  perhaps  you  have  only  just 
come.  Is  Brother  Andrew  within?  " 


LIMITS  OF  INTEREST  IN  ORAL  STUDIES  31 

The  monk  looked  at  him  as  he  spoke,  and  he  wondered 
as  he  looked.  "  Why,"  said  he,  "  there  has  been  no 
change  here  to-day,  no,  nor  for  many  years.  I  have  myself 
been  here  ten  years  come  Michaelmas.  There  is  no  Brother 
Andrew  amongst  us.  But  thou  ?  pray,  who  art  thou  ?  and 
whence  earnest  thou?  What  is  thy  name,  good  brother?  " 

The  old  monk,  much  wondering,  told  his  name,  and  said 
further:  "  It  was  only  this  morning,  early  this  morning, 
that  I  left  the  garden,  for  I  heard  the  song  of  a  bird; 
and  it  was  like  a  song  let  down  from  heaven  to  draw 
me  up." 

Now  when  the  younger  monk  heard  the  name,  he  fell  on 
his  knees,  and  took  the  robe  of  the  other  in  his  hand,  and 
bowed  over  it.  Then  he  told  him  how  it  was  written  in 
the  books  of  the  monastery  that  a  holy  man  of  that  name 
had  strangely  disappeared  out  of  their  sight  two  hundred 
years  ago. 

"  And  it  was  written,"  he  said,"  that  like  as  the  Lord 
God  buried  his  servant  Moses,  and  no  man  knew  where  he 
was  buried,  so  did  he  hide  from  our  sight  this  holy  brother." 

At  that,  a  smile  spread  over  the  face  of  the  old  monk, 
and  .he  lifted  up  his  voice  and  said,  ' '  My  hour  of  death  is 
come.  Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord  for  all  his  mercies 
to  me, ' '  and  so  he  breathed  out  his  spirit. 

Then  all  the  monks  in  the  monastery  were  called  to  wit- 
ness this  strange  sight ;  and  the  young  monk  who  had  held 
converse  with  the  old  man  turned  to  his  brethren  and  said : 

"  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner!  When  this  old  man 
drew  near  to  me,  I  was  thinking  to  myself,  how  can  I  bear 


32  STORY-TELLING 

the  thought  of  an  eternity  of  happiness  ?  Shall  I  not  weary 
of  endless  peace?  but  lo!  our  brother  heard  a  bird  of 
God  for  but  a  single  day,  as  he  thought,  and  it  was  two 
hundred  years.  Surely  a  thousand  years  in  his  sight  are 
but  as  yesterday,  and  as  a  day  that  is  past." 

— Horace  Scudder. 


CHAPTER  II 

HOW  TO  ARRANGE  AND  TELL  STORIES 

Reading1,  reciting1,  or  telling1.  A  story  effectively  told 
has  a  number  of  advantages  over  a  story  read  or  even 
recited  from  memory.  The  oral  story  becomes  free  from 
the  bondage  of  print.  No  matter  how  closely  the  story- 
teller follows  the  arrangement  of  the  original  author  or 
with  what  fidelity  he  reproduces  the  spirit  of  the  original, 
he  is,  so  far  as  appearances  go,  the  creator  of  the  tale.  A 
reader  is  obliged  to  keep  his  eyes  upon  the  text  for  a 
large  enough  part  of  the  time  to  dispel  all  the  illusion  of 
spontaneous  creation.  The  nearest  thing  to  the  told  story 
in  its  effects  is  the  memorized  tale. 

One  who  reads  or  recites  becomes  the  mouthpiece  of  the 
writer.  Her  business  is  to  "  get  across  "  to  her  audience 
the-  impressions  which  the  writer  has  put  upon  paper. 
The  oral  teller  uses  what  is  written  merely  as  the  founda- 
tion for  her  narrative.  In  conjunction  with  the  author 
she,  too,  is  a  creator.  The  children,  with  eyes  upon  the 
teller's  face,  observe  the  changes  of  expression  as  the  nar- 
rative advances.  They  see  the  light  in  her  eyes.  She 
knows  already  what  the  end  will  be.  They  believe  that  it 
will  have  an  element  of  the  unexpected  in  it,  and  that. 

33 


34  STORY-TELLING 

whatever  it  is,  it  will  be  interesting  to  them.  Their  expe- 
rience with  her  gives  them  that  confidence.  They  have 
learned  to  watch  the  changes  in  her  face  and  the  look  in 
her  eyes,  and  to  read  these  known  signs  and  predict  the 
outcome. 

Then,  although  they  know  that  in  most  cases  what  she 
is  telling  has  its  foundation  in  some  printed  book,  they  soon 
forget  the  book  and  accept  unconsciously  the  teller  as 
the  creator  of  the  story.  Perhaps  these  pictures  which 
she  is  giving  them  are  purely  imaginative;  or  more  fas- 
cinating still,  it  may  be  that  the  stories  are  true  —  a  part 
of  the  teacher's  personal  experiences.  This  attitude  toward 
the  story-teller  is  possible  at  the  height  of  interest  in  skill- 
ful work.  It  is  made  possible  to  the  story-teller  by  living 
with  the  story  till  it  is  her  very  own. 

The  told  story  is,  then,  much  more  intimate  than  the 
narrative  read  or  recited.  The  child  comes  to  feel  that 
there  is  no  barrier  between  him  and  the  teller  —  that  there 
is  no  book  between  the  narrator  and  the  hearer.  There  is 
none  of  the  slavery  to  word  or  phrase  which  so  often  mars 
recited  tales.  A  word  is  dropped,  or  the  exact  phrasing 
is  forgotten,  and  the  narrator  stumbles  and  halts  in  confu- 
sion. The  glamor  vanishes,  and  the  effect  of  the  story  upon 
the  imagination  of  the  children  fades  away.  The  story- 
teller, at  ease  in  her  situation,  acquainted  with  the  plot 
and  characters,  is  free  from  the  letter,  the  word,  the 
phrase,  and  so  need  never  be  embarrassed  by  the  loss  of  a 
single  word.  She  can  substitute  other  ways  of  saying  the 
thing,  and  so  keep  up  the  illusion  of  her  narration  and 


HOW  TO  ARRANGE  AND  TELL  STORIES  35 

indulge  without  a  break  the  full  and  steady  stream  of  thfi 
imagination  of  her  pupils. 

If  it  were  not  for  one  or  two  important  considera- 
tions, perhaps  the  most  effective  means  of  getting  a 
story  from  the  author  to  the  hearer  would  be  by  mem- 
orizing and  reciting.  The  lesser  of  thece  considerations 
is  that  the  recitation  is  more  or  less  mechanical  unless 
the  reader  is  very  much  more  skillful  in  dramatic  art 
than  most  teachers  are.  The  more  important  fact  is 
that  only  a  very  limited  number  of  stories  can  be  mem- 
orized. This  needs  no  elaboration.  Everyone  who  has 
tried  it  knows  what  a  labor  it  is  to  memorize  word  for 
word  a  long  story,  be  it  ever  so  interesting  or  dramatic. 
Teachers  do  not  have  time  for  much  work  of  that  kind.  A 
successful  teacher  who  makes  use  of  story-telling  in  pro- 
portion to  its  importance  must  have  a  stock  of  stories  run- 
ning up  to  a  hundred  or  more.  If  she  depended  upon 
memorizing  stories,  she  could  not  hope  to  hold  in  a  usable 
form  more  than  ten  or  a  dozen  stories.  When  one  has  once 
acquired  the  technic  of  story-telling,  it  is  no  great  task  to 
add  a  new  story  to  the  stock  already  on  hand.  The  teller 
doe's  not  need  to  carry  in  memory  all  the  details  of  all 
the  stories  in  her  repertory ;  for  it  is  easy,  once  a  story  is 
mastered,  to  freshen  it  up  for  telling.  But  the  memorized 
story  must  be  kept,  word  for  word,  or  its  effect  is  lost. 

In  this  connection  two  important  admissions  need  to  be 
made.  The  first  is  that  there  are  stories  of  a  certain  type 
that  lose  through  narration.  These  are  stories  which  pro- 
duce their  emotional  impressions  pretty  largely  through 


36  STORY-TELLING 

the  choice  of  words,  or  peculiarities  of  dialect,  or  style  in 
the  literary  sense.  One  can  easily  preserve  every  incident 
in  the  plot  and  yet  fail  to  transmit  the  spirit  of  the  piece, 
because  the  spirit  resided  in  the  very  phrases  themselves. 
This  is  true  of  such  a  story  as  Ruth  Sawyer's,  "  The  Prin- 
cess and  the  Vagabone  "  and  some  of  the  Uncle  Remus 
stories.  The  second  admission  is  that  the  mastering  of  the 
technic  of  story-telling  is  not  simple  or  easy.  Learning 
the  art  once  is  learning  it  for  all  time  for  a  particular  type 
of  story  —  and  there  are  only  a  few  types,  differing  from 
each  other,  not  in  very  large  ways,  but  only  in  smaller 
details.  Of  course,  the  process  of  memorizing  is  the  same 
for  every  story.  By  practice  one  gains  a  little  in  facility, 
but  his  task  differs  but  little  from  story  to  story,  if  one 
must  learn  word  by  word. 

Experimentation  with  incidents.  The  story  read  or 
memorized  is  a  fixed  quantity.  The  told  story  is  plastic. 
If  the  teller  finds  that  a  section  of  a  written  narrative  is 
toe  long  to  be  interesting,  she  can  condense  that  part;  cr 
if  it  is  not  essential  to  the  plot,  she  can  omit  it  altogether. 
She  can  amplify  other  incidents  or  enlarge  upon  the  char- 
acters or  the  dialog  or  any  phase  of  the  tale  her  experi- 
ence tells  her  will  be  made  more  absorbing  in  its  interest 
by  so  doing. 

A  substitute  for  memorizing.  Instead  of  memorizing 
a  whole  story  word  for  word,  you  should  come  to  know  it 
so  well  that  the  spirit  of  it  is  yours.  Become  so  imbued 
with  the  spirit  that  it  comes  to  be  a  part  of  yourself  — 
something  that  no  one  can  take  from  you  —  something  that 


HOW  TO  AREANGE  ANu  TELL  STORIES  37 

will  not  evaporate  and  vanish  away  with  the  loss  of  a 
mere  word.  This  sort  of  memorizing  is  more  a  familiar- 
izing of  oneself  with  the  author's  style  than  actually  reduc- 
ing any  of  the  story  elements  to  memory.  By  reading  the 
story  over  and  over  you  unconsciously  attract  to  yourself 
a  diction,  a  phrasing  that  belongs  to  the  author  and  the 
piece,  that  just  naturally  fits  into  the  situations  contained 
in  the  story. 

It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that  one  cannot  neglect 
diction  and  word  grouping.  If  an  author  has  style,  is 
really  a  literary  person,  his  way  of  using  words  is  his  own 
and  unlike  that  of  anyone  else.  Uncle  Remus  is  an  extreme 
case,  but  each  author  has  his  personal  peculiarities.  These 
are  significant.  They  give  the  individual  flavor  to  the  piece. 
Stories  like  the  fables  of  Laura  E.  Richards  or  Van  Dyke's 
' '  A  Handful  of  Clay  ' '  are  very  dependent  upon  the  exact 
word.  In  preparing  these  stories,  and  all  others  to  which 
the  word  itself  means  so  much,  you  need  not  memorize 
them  word  for  word.  Get  into  the  spirit  of  the  story  by 
frequent  reading,  and,  without  your  knowing  when  or  how, 
it  will  become  yours.  Read  many  of  Dr.  Van  Dyke's 
stories  or  many  of  those  of  Mrs.  Richards  until  you  come 
to  have  a  feeling  for  their  choice  of  words,  their  arrange- 
ment in  phrase  and  sentence,  until  the  wrong  word  or  an 
unharmonious  arrangement  would  produce  a  slight  shock 
to  your  natural  expectation,  and  then  you  have  made  their 
spirit  your  spirit,  by  recognition  at  least.  The  spirit  and 
style  are  more  essential  than  the  words.  If  you  are  work- 
ing with  Mrs.  Richards'  fables,  it  does  not  matter  if  you 


38  STORY-TELLING 

inadvertently  substitute  "  The-Angel-who-is-aware-of- 
things  "  -for  "  The- Angel- who-understands-things. "  One 
conveys  the  same  feeling  as  the  other,  and  you  have  not 
halted  in  confusion  while  you  sought  the  exact  word.  In 
preparing  to  tell  the  Uncle  Remus  stories  —  the  most  diffi- 
cult task  there  is  for  one  not  a  native  of  the  South  —  read 
many  of  the  stories  over  and  over.  Read  them  until  Uncle 
Remus'  way  of  saying  things  seems  the  natural  way,  until 
you  yourself  begin  to  think  the  thing  as  Uncle  Remus 
would  say  it.  Then  Uncle  Remus  may  comment  on  Brer 
Bar's  action  and  say,  "  Right  thar  is  whar  Brer  Bar 
dropped  his  water-melon,"  whether  the  text  of  the  story 
authorizes  that  particular  remark  or  not. 

Tell  only  stories  you  like.  Stories  which  you  do  not 
like,  stories  which  make  no  appeal  to  you,  are  not  for 
you  to  tell.  No  matter  how  much  others  may  like  the 
story  or  how  high  it  is  rated,  you  yourself  must  see  some- 
thing in  it,  must  like  it  and  feel "  called  "  to  tell  it.  Other- 
wise the  story  will  fall  flat  and  uninteresting.  You  can- 
not expect  your  audience  to  be  absorbed  in  your  disinter- 
ested interpretations.  Sham  shows  through  in  story-tell- 
ing more  quickly  than  in  any  other  form  of  art.  If  you 
assume  an  attitude  or  an  emotion  that  you  do  not  feel,  your 
attempt  at  deception  will  deceive  nobody.  Your  actions 
and  your  face  will  betray  you.  Limit  your  repertory  to 
stories  which  you  find  absolutely  attractive.  Those  good 
stories  you  do  not  find  to  your  liking  will  be  attractive  to 
some  other  story-teller. 


HOW  TO  ARRANGE  AND  TELL  STORIES  39 

Believe  your  tale !  If  in  imagination  you  cannot  see 
fairies,  don't  tell  your  children  about  them.  You  cannot 
make  them  see  what  you  cannot  see  for  yourself.  Can  you 
have  a  hope  of  showing  a  child  the  woman  in  the  maon, 
the  golden  chariot  made  by  the  clouds  at  sunset,  or  the 
beautiful  palace  surrounded  by  the  high  walls  made  by 
the  glowing  embers  in  the  grate  at  night,  if  you  do  not  see 
them  yourself  ?  If  your  own  imagination  does  not  picture 
the  scene  and  accept  the  incident  as  possible,  do  not  attempt 
to  tell  children  about  the  fairy  god-mother  who  changed 
Cinderella's  rags  into  a  beautiful  and  dainty  party  gown, 
for  they  will  never  believe  your  tale.  There  are  enough 
beautiful  stories,  some  of  which  will  certainly  appeal  to 
you.  Then,  discriminate;  choose  your  own  kind.  Do  not 
tell  a  story  just  because  some  one  else  has  told  it.  If  you 
do  not  care  for  it,  leave  it  for  someone  else  who  does. 

Imagined  pictures.  What  are  you  giving  the  children 
when  you  are  telling  them  a  story  ?  You  draw  for  them  in 
words  a  series  of  pictures.  In  order  to  make  it  possible 
for  them  to  see  these  pictures  the  teller  must,  herself, 
first  visualize  them.  But  these  imagined  pictures  are  un- 
like the  pictures  which  an  artist  paints  with  colors.  They 
must  be  pictures  made  living  by  means  of  action.  They 
must  be  dynamic.  Sir  Galahad  upon  his  white  steed  must 
ride  down  to  the  sea  and  enter  Solomon's  ship;  Cinder- 
ella's coach  must  change  into  a  pumpkin  at  the  stroke  of 
twelve ;  the  swan  boat  must  stop  at  the  shore,  and  Lohen- 
grin must  step  forth  to  rescue  Elsa  from  what  seems  her 


40  STORY-TELLING 

cruel  and  ineludible  fate ;  the  child  must  reach  down  from 
the  tree  and  kiss  the  Selfish  Giant.  In  every  situation  there 
must  be  the  picture  and  the  animation  that  means  life. 

The  story  plan,  or  plot.  A  series  of  related  stereop- 
ticou  views  are  interesting  to  children ;  but  how  much  more 
interesting  is  a  series  of  moving  pictures  working  out  a 
narrative  through  a  succession  of  scenes  selected  and  ar- 
ranged—  scenes  so  ordered  as  to  produce  the  culminative 
effect  of  skillfully  constructed  drama  or  short  story.  There 
must  be  plenty  of  action,  but  the  action  must  be  arrange,! 
so  as  to  come  to  something.  You  must  have  an  organized 
plan.  First  there  must  be  an  explanatory  part  preceding 
the  incident  that  sets  the  story  going.  Call  this  the  Set- 
ting, Background,  or  Preliminary  Situation,  and  include  in 
it  an  account  of  place,  time,  and  characters,  and  their  rela- 
tions each  to  the  other.  Get  the  setting  before  your  hearers 
as  quickly  as  may  be  to  be  clear.  Describe  your  char- 
acters clearly,  but  be  concise,  and  then  make  your  people 
do  something,  make  something  happen  to  start  the  train 
of  action.  Following  this  you  must  let  your  story  advance 
by  a  series  of  definitely  ordered  steps.  You  must  have  the 
steps  of  your  story  well  enough  in  mind  that  you  will  not 
forget  the  order.  Nothing  is  so  disconcerting  to  the  lis- 
teners as  not  to  be  able  to  follow  the  chain  of  events  in 
the  story.  If  you  happen  to  forget  a  step  in  your  plot 
either  omit  that  part  entirely,  or  if  it  is  an  essential  step 
in  the  story  structure,  weave  it  into  some  later  part  of 
the  story  in  such  way  as  to  supply  the  necessary  element 
without  breaking  the  continuity  of  the  action.  To  say  "  I 


HOW  TO  ARRANGE  AND  TELL  STORIES  4^ 

forgot  "  and  then  go  back,  interrupts  the  orderly  course 
of  the  story,  and  the  child  will  find  it  impossible  to  place  his 
pictures  correctly.  Having  related  your  story  in  a  series 
of  ordered  steps  —  Preliminary  Situation,  Initial  Incident, 
and  a  series  of  steps  in  an  action  rising  in  interest  to  a 
culmination  —  close  the  tale  with  a  satisfactory  conclusion, 
one  that  will  give  the  children  a  feeling  that  the  story  has 
really  been  finished. 

Simplicity.  While  dramatic  action  and  movement  are 
necessary  to  the  story,  these  can  be  overdone.  The  emo- 
tional element  can  be  so  emphasized  as  to  seem  unreal.  If 
either  phase  of  narration  is  stressed  out  of  proportion,  the 
children  soon  discover  the  unreality  and  mentally  say, 
"  She  is  putting  on."  Be  simple  if  you  wish  to  seem  nat- 
ural. Simplicity  is  the  keynote  to  effective  story-telling. 

Preparation.  Believing  is  the  first  step  in  preparation. 
For  the  time,  the  events  must  seem  to  the  story-teller  so 
wonderful  that  all  will  be  glad  to  hear  of  them.  She  must 
have  this  attitude  toward  whatever  story  she  tells.  She 
must  regard  Peter  Pan's  experiences  as  the  most  wonder- 
ful a  child  ever  had.  The  Great  Stone  Face  must  seem 
so  Wonderful  that  Ernest  may  well  be  attracted  to  it  and 
gaze  upon  those  strong  but  gentle  features  until  he  aspires 
to  be  like  his  ideal  of  strength  and  goodness  and  gentle- 
ness. Then  it  will  be  no  surprise,  but  a  natural  and 
accepted  culmination,  when  the  people  of  Ernest's  village 
turn  to  him  and  see  him  as  the  one  human  being  in  the 
world  who  embodies  the  qualities  reflected  in  the  Great 
Stone  Face. 


42  STORY-TELLING 

In  preparing  a  story  for  telling,  the  narrator  will  find 
it  necessary  to  read  it  over  a  number  of  times  to  get  the 
spirit  and  tone  and  to  fix  the  mental  pictures  of  the  piece. 
The  story  may  be  organized  by  asking  a  series  of  ques- 
tions of  yourself  after  you  have  gone  through  the  story 
with  the  book  closed.  Have  I  succeeded  in  arranging  my 
pictures  in  an  ordered  way?  Does  the  first  picture  pre- 
sent the  elements  of  a  clear  preliminary  situation?  Does 
the  next  incident  start  the  story  into  motion  ?  Do  the  suc- 
ceeding pictures  present  a  naturally  ascending  series  of 
incidents  leading  to  the  culmination  which  you  have  fore- 
seen as  the  logical  high  point  of  your  story?  And  then 
have  you  anything  left  to  round  the  story  out  to  a  quieter 
and  more  convincing  conclusion? 

Do  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  use  your  story  before  an  audi- 
ence. Lave  with  it  as  long  as  possible.  Read  it  over  at 
every  opportunity  you  have.  Finally  practice  in  telling 
it  aloud,  with  or  without  an  audience.  If  you  are  telling 
a  story  of  people  of  a  foreign  land,  learn  as  much  about 
the  customs  of  the  people  as  you  can.  Familiarity  with 
scenes  and  customs  gives  an  intensified  appearance  of  truth. 
After  all  this  preparation  there  remains  only  one  thing 
more  to  do,  and  that  is  to  tell  the  story.  Tell  the  par- 
ticular story  over  and  over  as  often  as  you  find  an  inter- 
ested audience.  A  story  has  not  served  its  time  and  pur- 
pose when  it  has  been  heard  for  a  single  time.  With  its 
first  telling  it  simply  takes  its  place  in  the  story-teller's 
repertory,  there  to  be  called  up  for  use  as  many  times  as 
occasion  can  be  found  for  it.  The  whole  list  of  a  story- 


HOW  TO  ARRANGE  AND  TELL  STORIES  43 

teller's  tales  is  to  be  regarded  not  as  if  in  cold  storage, 
but  upon  the  live  list  for  constant  use.  Practice  makes  per- 
fect in  the  story-teller's  art. 

Telling1  the  story.  The  narrator  and  the  audience 
should  be  close  together.  The  teacher  who  stands  afar  off 
and  on  a  high  stage  does  not  succeed  in  getting  the  re- 
sponse from  her  audience  that  is  given  to  one  who  stands 
close  to  her  hearers.  She  should  be  able  to  see  the  faces 
of  individual  listeners,  into  their  eyes  even.  If  one  child 
seems  interested  in  something  other  than  the  story,  the 
teller  can,  for  the  time,  tell  the  story  directly  to  this 
wavering  one.  Not  only  this,  but  it  is  a  great  help  to  the 
story-teller  to  see  and  feel  the  response  from  her  audi- 
ence. Children  enjoy  the  feeling  inspired  by  a  story-teller 
who  gives  them  pictures  for  their  enjoyment  which  she 
apparently  enjoys  herself,  as  well  as  the  happiness  that 
comes  to  her  from  the  appreciation  of  her  hearers.  One 
who  makes  herself  sympathetically  remote  from  her  audi- 
ence can  give  them  only  the  crumbs  which  she  lets  fall  from 
the  story  banquet.  She  cannot  give  her  hearers  the  full 
feast.  If  the  group  is  too  large  for  the  intimate  touch  and 
sight,  the  next  best  thing  is  the  straight-forward  manner 
even  over  a  greater  gap  of  distance.  Look  into  the  faces 
of  your  audience.  Make  them  feel  that  you  are  interested 
in  them  and  have  something  interesting  for  them.  The 
facial  expression  of  the  narrator,  the  light  in  the  eyes,  has 
a  great  deal  to  do  with  insuring  the  success  of  a  story. 
The  foundation  principle  of  the  whole  matter,  however,  is 
a  personal  interest  in  the  story  you  are  telling  and  a  sym- 


44  STORY-TELLING 

pathetic  understanding  of  the  group  of  listeners  who  are 
to  hear  your  tale  of  joy  or  wonder  or  humor  or  clever- 
ness or  whatever  it  may  happen  to  be. 

THE  BEAR  AS  A  HUMORIST  * 

Not  long  ago,  about  the  time  a  party  of  Americans  were 
setting  out  for  India  to  hunt  the  tiger,  a  young  banker 
from  New  York  came  to  California  to  hunt  what  he  rightly 
considered  the  nobler  beast. 

He  chartered  a  small  steamer  in  San  Francisco  Bay  and 
taking  with  him  a  party  of  friends,  as  well  as  a  great-grand- 
son of  Daniel  Boone,  a  famous  hunter,  for  a  guide,  he 
sailed  up  the  coast  to  the  redwood  wilderness  of  Humboldt. 
Here  he  camped  on  the  bank  of  a  small  stream  in  a  madrona 
thicket  and  began  to  hunt  for  his  bear.  He  found  his 
bear,  an  old  female  with  young  cubs.  As  Boone  was  nat- 
urally in  advance  when  the  beast  was  suddenly  stumbled 
upon,  he  had  to  do  the  fighting;  and  this  gave  the  banker 
from  the  States  a  chance  to  scramble  up  a  small  madrona. 
Of  course  he  dropped  his  gun.  They  always  do  drop  their 
guns  by  some  singularly  sad  combination  of  accidents, 
when  they  start  up  a  tree  with  two  rows  of  big  teeth  in 
the  rear,  and  it  is  hardly  fair  to  expect  the  young  bear- 
hunter  from  New  York  to  prove  an  exception.  Poor  Boone 
was  severely  maltreated  by  the  savage  old  mother  grizzly 
in  defense  of  her  young.  There  was  a  crashing  of  brush 
and  a  crushing  of  bones,  and  then  all  was  still. 

*  Reprinted  by  permission  of  Rand  McNally  &  Co.,  from 
"  True  Bear  Stories."  Copyrighted,  1900. 


HOW  TO  ARRANGE  AND  TELL  STORIES  45 

Suddenly  the  bear  seemed  to  remember  that  there  was  a 
second  party  who  had  been  in  earnest  search  for  a  bear,  and 
looking  back  down  the  trail  and  up  in  the  boughs  of  a 
small  tree,  she  saw  a  pair  of  boots.  She  left  poor  Boone 
senseless  on  the  ground  and  went  for  those  boots.  Coming 
forward,  she  reared  up  under  the  tree  and  began  to  claw 
for  the  capitalist.  He  told  me  that  she  seemed  to  him, 
as  she  stood  there,  to  be  about  fifty  feet  high.  Then  she 
laid  hold  of  the  tree. 

Fortunately  this  madrona  tree  is  of  a  hard  and  unyield- 
ing nature,  and  with  all  her  strength  she  could  neither 
break  nor  bend  it.  But  she  kept  thrusting  up  her  long  nose 
and  longer  claws,  laying  hold  first  of  his  boots,  which  she 
pulled  off,  one  after  the  other,  with  her  teeth,  then  with 
her  claws  she  took  hold  of  one  garment  and  then  another 
till  the  man  of  money  had  hardly  a  shred,  and  his  legs 
were  streaming  with  blood.  Fearing  that  he  should  faint 
from  loss  of  blood,  he  lashed  himself  to  the  small  trunk 
of  the  tree  by  his  belt  and  then  began  to  scream  with  all 
his  might  for  his  friends. 

When  the  bear  became  weary  of  clawing  up  at  the  dan- 
gling legs,  she  went  back  and  began  to  turn  poor  Boone 
over  to  see  if  he  showed  any  signs  of  life.  Then  she  came 
back  and  again  clawed  a  while  at  the  screaming  man  up 
the  madrona  tree.  It  was  great  fun  for  the  bear ! 

To  cut  a  thrilling  story  short,  the  party  in  camp  on  the 
other  side  of  the  creek  finally  came  in  hail,  when  the  old 
bear  gathered  up  her  babies  and  made  safe  exit  up  a 
gulch.  Boone,  who  now  lives  in  Arizona,  was  so  badly 


46  STORY-TELLING 

crushed  and  bitten  that  his  life  was  long  despaired  of,  but 
he  finally  got  well.  The  bear,  he  informed  me,  showed  no 
disposition  to  eat  him  while  turning  him  over  and  tap- 
ping him  with  her  foot  and  thrusting  her  nose  into  his 
bleeding  face  to  see  if  he  still  breathed. 

Story  after  story  of  this  character  could  be  told  to  prove 
that  the  grizzly  at  home  is  not  entirely  brutal  and  savage ; 
but  rather  a  good-natured  lover  of  his  family  and  fond  of 
his  sly  joke.  — Joaquin  Miller. 

BEETHOVEN'S  MOONLIGHT  SONATA 

It  happened  at  Vienna.  One  moonlight  evening,  in  early 
summer,  a  friend  called  upon  Beethoven.  He  said, ' '  Come, 
let  us  walk  together  in  the  moonlight."  Arm  in  arm  the 
two  friends  strolled  through  the  city.  In  passing  through 
a  dark,  narrow  street,  Beethoven  paused  suddenly. 
"  Hush!  "  he  said.  "  What  sound  is  that?  It  is  from 
my  sonata  in  F.  Hark,  how  well  it  is  played !  ' ' 

It  was  a  mean  little  dwelling  before  which  the  two 
friends  paused  to  listen.  The  music  went  on.  Almost  at 
the  end  of  the  beautiful  sonata,  the  music  ceased,  and  low 
sobs  were  heard  instead.  A  girl's  soft  voice  said,  "  I  can 
go  no  farther.  It  is  too  beautiful.  I  have  not  the  power 
to  play  it  as  it  should  be  played.  Oh,  what  would  I  not 
give  to  go  to  one  of  Beethoven 's  concerts !  ' ' 

"  Ah,  my  sister,"  said  another  voice,  "  why  wish  for 
that  which  you  can  not  have?  We  can  scarcely  pay  our 
rent." 


HOW  TO  AEKANGE  AND  TELL  STOEIES  47 

"  You  are  right,"  answered  the  girl,  "  and  yet  I  wish 
for  once  in  my  life  to  hear  some  really  good  music." 

"  Such  a  wish  will  never  be  granted,"  said  her  com- 
panion. 

Beethoven  looked  at  his  friend.    "  Let  us  go  in,"  he  said. 

"  Go  in !    Why  should  we  go  in?  " 

"  I  will  play  for  her,"  said  the  master,  in  a  low  tone. 
"  This  girl  has  the  soul  of  a  musician.  I  will  play  for 
her,  and  she  will  understand."  Without  waiting  for  an 
answer,  his  hand  was  upon  the  door. 

As  the  two  friends  entered  the  room,  they  saw  a  pale, 
young  man  sitting  by  a  table  making  shoes.  Near  him  sat 
a  young  girl.  She  was  leaning  sorrowfully  upon  an  old- 
fashioned  harpsichord.  Her  long,  golden  hair  fell  over 
her  neck  and  shoulders.  Both  the  young  man  and  the  girl 
were  very  poorly  dressed.  Both  started  and  turned  toward 
the  door  as  the  strangers  entered  the  room. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Beethoven,  "  but  I  heard  the  music 
and  was  tempted  to  enter.  I  am  a  musician. ' ' 

The  girl  blushed,  and  the  young  man  appeared  annoyed. 
"  I  also  heard  something  of  what  you  said,"  continued 
Beethoven.  "  Shall  I  play  for  you?  Shall  I  give  you  a 
concert?  " 

Beethoven's  manner  was  so  friendly  and  his  voice  so 
kindly  that  a  smile  took  the  place  of  the  frown  on  the 
young  man's  face.  The  four,  who  but  a  moment  ago  were, 
strangers,  became  friends  at  once. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  shoemaker,  "  but  our  harp- 
sichord is  so  poor  and  we  have  no  music." 


48  STORY-TELLING 

"  No  music,"  echoed  Beethoven.  "  How  then  does  the 
young  lady  play  so  —  "  He  stopped  suddenly,  for  the 
girl  turned  her  face  toward  him,  and  for  the  first  time 
he  saw  that  she  was  blind. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  stammered,  "  but  I  had  not 
noticed  before.  Then  you  play  by  ear  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes,  entirely,"  the  girl  answered. 

"  And  where  do  you  hear  music,  since  you  attend  no 
concerts?  "  asked  Beethoven. 

"  I  used  to  hear  a  lady  practicing  near  us.  During  the 
summer  evenings  her  windows  were  often  open,  and  I 
walked  to  and  fro  outside  to  listen." 

The  girl  seemed  shy;  so  Beethoven  said  no  more.  He 
seated  himself  quietly  before  the  harpsichord  and  began  to 
play.  Never  before  had  Beethoven  played  as  he  played 
that  night  for  the  blind  girl  and  her  brother.  From  the 
moment  that  his  fingers  began  to  wander  over  the  keys, 
the  very  tone  of  the  instrument  seemed  to  grow  sweeter. 

The  brother  and  sister  were  silent  with  wonder.  The 
young  man  laid  aside  his  work  and  the  girl  sat  perfectly 
quiet.  She  leaned  forward  a  little  as  if  afraid  lest  she 
might  miss  a  single  note  of  the  sweet  music. 

Suddenly  the  flame  of  the  candle  wavered,  sank,  flick- 
ered, and  went  out.  Beethoven  paused.  His  friend  rose 
quietly  and  threw  open  the  shutters.  A  flood  of  soft  moon- 
light filled  the  room,  so  that  it  was  almost  as  light  as 
before.  The  moonbeams  fell  brightest  upon  the  piano  and 
the  player. 

But  the  music  had  stopped.    The  master's  head  dropped 


HOW  TO  ARRANGE  AND  TELL  STORIES  49 

upon  his  breast,  and  his  hands  rested  upon  his  knees.  He 
seemed  lost  in  thought,  and  sat  thus  for  some  time. 

At  length  the  young  shoemaker  arose.  Eagerly,  yet 
timidly,  he  approached  the  musician.  ' '  Wonderful  man !  ' ' 
he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  who  art  thou?  " 

One  of  the  composer's  rare  smiles  flitted  across  his  face. 
"  Listen!  "  he  said,  and  with  a  master's  touch  he  gave  the 
opening  bars  of  his  own  sonata  in  F. 

The  girl  seemed  to  know  that  no  one  but  the  composer 
of  the  music  could  have  played  it  so  well.  "  Then  you 
are  Beethoven,"  she  exclaimed.  Beethoven  rose  to  go,  but 
they  begged  him  to  stay.  ' '  Play  to  us  once  more  —  only 
once  more." 

He  again  seated  himself  at  the  piano.  The  moon  shone 
brightly  through  the  window.  Looking  up  thoughtfully  to 
the  sky  and  stars,  he  said,  ' '  I  will  compose  a  sonata  to  the 
moonlight."  Touching  the  keys  lightly,  he  began  to  play 
a  sad  and  lovely  melody.  The  music  filled  the  room  as 
gently  as  the  soft  moonlight  creeps  over  the  dark  earth. 

Then  the  time  changed.  The  music  became  brighter  and 
more  rapid.  One  no  longer  seemed  to  see  the  moon  gliding 
thru  fleecy  clouds.  Instead,  one  thought  of  sprites  and 
fairies  dancing  merrily  together. 

Once  again  the  music  changed.  The  notes  were  as  rapid 
as  before,  but  they  seemed  fraught  with  sadness.  It  was 
such  music  as  fills  the  heart  with  wonder. 

"  Farewell  to  you,"  said  Beethoven,  pushing  back  his 
chair  and  turning  toward  the  door.  "  Farewell  to  you." 


50  STORY-TELLING 

"  You  will  come  again?  "  said  the  brother  and  jister 
in  one  breath. 

He  paused  and  looked  tenderly  at  the  face  of  the  blind 
girl.  "  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  "  I  will  come  again  and  give 
you  some  lessons.  Farewell!  I  will  come  soon  again." 
His  new  friends  followed  him  in  silence  and  stood  at  the 
door  until  he  was  out  of  sight  and  hearing. 

' '  Let  us  hasten  home, ' '  said  Beethoven  to  his  friend.  ' '  I 
must  write  out  that  sonata  while  the  music  is  still  in  my 
mind."  When  they  reached  home,  Beethoven  seated  him- 
self at  once  and  began  to  write.  He  worked  until  day- 
break. When  he  had  finished  he  had  written  the  Moon- 
light Sonata. 

— Adapted. 


CHAPTER  III 

TYPES  OF  STORIES 

Fairy  tales.  When  we  think  of  fairy  tales,  we  in- 
variably recall  the  old  favorites  of  our  childhood,  such  as 
Cinderella,  Sleeping  Beauty,  The  Elves  and  the  Shoe- 
maker, and  Hansel  and  Gretel.  This  type  of  story  is  hardly 
suited  to  children  of  the  upper  grades.  There  are,  however, 
modern  fairy  tales  that  delight  the  larger  children  as  much 
as  the  well-worn  nursery  tale  pleases  the  smaller.  Oscar 
Wilde's  fairy  tales  are  just  as  charming  for  older  pupils 
fcs  are  those  of  Grimm  and  Anderson  in  their  proper  place. 
Take,  for  example,  Wilde's  "  The  Happy  Prince,"  "  The 
Selfish  Giant,"  and  "  The  Star  Child."  These  never  fail 
to  interest  young  people  when  they  are  well  told.  What 
more  fascinating  and  beautiful  stories  would  you  wish  to 
find  than  Sir  James  Barrie's  "  Peter  Pan,"  or  Maeter- 
linck's "  The  Blue  Bird,"  each  illuminated  by  the  fairy 
glow  ?  The  moral  in  these  stories  for  the  older  children  is 
not  nearly  so  self-evident  as  it  is  in  those  which  we  give 
to  smaller  children,  but  it  is  not  beyond  the  range  of 
understanding  of  children  from  ten  to  fifteen  years  old. 
[n  Cinderella  the  reward  of  goodness  and  the  punishment 
of  selfishness  and  cruelty  are  made  so  plain  that  even  the 
the  smallest  child  grasps  the  meaning  of  the  story.  Per- 

51 


52  STORY-TELLING 

haps  it  is  the  obviousness  of  the  theme  that  prevents  these 
simple  tales  from  holding  the  attention  of  older  children, 
but  more  mature  listeners  follow  with  the  keenest  interest, 
the  search  of  Mytyl  and  Tyltyl  for  the  elusive  blue  bird  as 
they  follow  it  afar.  They  know  that  the  Blue  Bird  is  hap- 
piness and  that  Mytyl  and  Tyltyl  are  just  a  boy  and  a  girl, 
such  as  they  are  themselves, —  their  own  representatives,  in 
fact,  seeking  to  find  happiness,  and  looking,  as  most  of  us 
do,  to  some  place  and  time  far  away  from  our  own  homes 
and  our  present  lives.  When  the  blue  bird  is  found  in 
their  own  simple  home,  a  sigh  of  satisfaction  from  your 
audience  is  your  applause  for  a  story  well  told  and  the 
author's  reward  for  presenting  a  theme  that  children  now 
recognize  as  true  and  artistic  as  well.  Now,  in  such  a 
story  as  this  of  Maeterlinck's,  you  can  hold  both  the  older 
and  younger  children.  The  latter  will  get  only  the  external 
baffling  search  for  the  blue  bird  without  perceiving  the 
fundamental  meaning  of  the  search  for  happiness  (the 
meaning  which  the  older  children  will  understand),  but 
even  then  the  situations  themselves  are  interesting  enough 
to  hold  their  attention. 

But  even  the  fairy  tales  out  of  the  legendary  past  are 
not  without  the  underlying  theme.  This  is  not  always  pres- 
ent, but  in  many  cases  the  tales  are  the  attempts  of  prim- 
itive peoples  to  account  for  natural  phenomena.  While 
our  modern  fairy  tales  are  not  survivals  of  the  personifi- 
cation of  the  elements,  still  we  find  human  attributes, 
human  sorrows,  and  perplexities,  and  the  like,  given  per- 
sonality with  effect  closely  following  cause  —  more  closely, 


TYPES  OF  STOKIES  53 

in  fact,  than  in  real  life,  but  still  exhibiting  the  truth  of 
punishment  of  wrong-doing  and  reward  of  right  living  with 
the  same  effectiveness  as  in  the  older  fairy  tales. 

It  is  true  that  the  older  children  have  had  more  expe- 
rience in  their  lifetime  than  their  younger  brothers  and 
sisters,  and,  therefore,  have  more  of  a  background  against 
which  to  build  future  experiences.  But  they  still  have  a 
need  for  the  deepening  of  impressions  by  the  repetition 
of  the  same  truths  which  we  wish  to  press  home  to  the 
smaller  folk  thru  the  medium  of  their  stories.  This  can 
be  accomplished  by  telling  more  mature  stories  exhibiting 
in  their  own  way  the  same  truths  that  the  simpler  stories 
have  already  illuminated.  Children  whose  imaginations 
have  been  kindled  early  are  more  receptive  when  they 
reach  the  age  for  the  more  mature  story  than  those  who 
have  not  had  such  training.  These  little  ones  have  been 
directed  in  their  dreaming  of  dreams  and  seeing  of  visions. 
They  will  dream  them  and  see  them  crudely  anyway.  But 
now  the  teaching  has  given  an  order  to  their  imaginations 
and  perhaps  has  aroused  some  spark  of  creative  genius 
within  them.  Not  all  children  can  be  trained  up  to  be 
inventors  or  geniuses,  but  it  is  not  too  much  to  hope  that 
we  can  fire  their  imaginations  so  as  to  make  possible  the 
accomplishment  of  their  life  work  in  a  way  more  successful 
than  would  have  been  possible  without  our  help.  And  it 
may  be  that  the  imaginative  fairy  tale  will  be  a  not  insig- 
nificant factor  in  the  accomplishment  of  this  result. 

It  is  certainly  true  that  within  the  charmed  circle  of 
Fairyland  are  held  the  mysteries  of  life  and  maybe  even 


54  STORY-TELLING 

the  tragedies  of  death.  Childhood  naturally  lives  in  the 
atmosphere  of  a  host  of  fairies.  Youth's  hope  and  love  is 
a  fairy  dream.  Mother  love  recites  the  fairy  story  and 
sings  the  babe  to  its  sleep  in  fairy  language.  And  even  old 
age  closes  life's  day  with  visions  of  attendant  angels, 
and  thus  is  the  circle  of  life  completed  —  the  fairy  ring 
from  infancy  to  tottering  age. 

Myths  and  folk  lore.  The  line  between  fairy  tales, 
myths,  and  folk  lore,  is  so  indistinct  that  we  can  scarcely 
classify  certain  stories  under  one  of  these  captions  with- 
out doubting  whether  it  would  not  be  better  placed  under 
one  of  the  other  two.  Properly,  myths  are  only  those 
stories  which  arise  in  the  religions  of  primitive  peoples. 
The  Greeks  wished  to  account  for  the  skill  of  the  spider 
in  weaving  his  geometric  web.  They  did  this  by  means  of 
a  story  and  at  the  same  time  wrote  a  warning  to  mortals 
so  presumptuous  as  to  vie  with  the  gods  in  wisdom  and 
skill.  These  ideas  are  embodied  in  the  story  of  Arachne 
the  weaver,  changed  into  a  spider  and  condemned  to  weave 
forever  because  she  presumed  to  challenge  Athene  to  a 
contest  of  skill  in  weaving.  The  Hebrew,  believing  that 
all  people  were  descended  from  Adam  and  Eve,  sought 
for  an  explanation  of  the  diversities  in  language  of  the 
nations,  and  created  the  story  of  the  Tower  of  Babel  as 
an  answer  to  their  natural  inquiry. 

In  like  manner  all  the  primitive  peoples  evolved  stories 
involving  explanations  of  the  relations  of  their  gods  to 
mankind,  and  the  interrelations  of  gods  and  men  and 
nature.  Each  nation  finally  succeeded  in  creating  a  some- 


TYPES  OF  STORIES  55 

what  ordered  cycle  of  these  stories,  making  what  we  call 
the  mythology  of  that  people. 

The  Norse  Myths,  for  example,  deal  with  the  days  of 
Odin,  the  father  of  all  their  gods,  and  relate  the  history 
of  his  family  of  gods  and  goddesses.  In  this  mythology 
children  find  Thor,  the  thunder  god,  a  favorite.  They  are 
interested  also  in  the  doings  of  the  mischievous  Loki,  the 
trouble  maker.  The  constant  struggle  between  the  Frost 
Giants  and  the  dwellers  in  Asgard  uses  the  natural  forces, 
cold  and  heat,  the  arresting  winter  and  the  beneficent,  life- 
giving  summer  to  exhibit  the  never-ending  battle  of  good 
against  evil  in  the  world.  Our  children  enjoy  these  tales. 
The  strength  and  ruggedness  of  these  peoples  and  their 
gods  make  a  strong  appeal  to  the  vigorous  child  mind. 

The  myths  of  the  Greeks  are  of  a  type  quite  different 
from  those  of  the  Norsemen.  All  the  love  of  beauty  and 
the  sensuousness  of  southern  races  are  reflected  in  the  per- 
sonalities and  characteristics  which  they  ascribed  to  the 
gods  whom  they  endowed  with  all  their  own  human  frailties 
as  well  as  their  admirable  qualities.  Hence  in  these  tales 
Aphrodite,  the  goddess  of  love  and  sensuous  beauty,  plays 
a  prominent  part.  Apollo  is  also  a  favorite.  The  inter- 
pretation of  the  seasonal  changes  in  these  myths  is  beauti- 
fully set  forth  in  the  myth  of  Persephone.  Could  we  imag- 
ine anything  more  beautiful  than  the  garden  in  which  little 
Persephone  played  ?  How  happy  she  must  have  been  with 
the  water  nymphs  for  playmates !  Contrast  with  this  story 
the  northern  myth  of  Balder,  and  it  will  appear  how 
climate  affects  the  disposition  of  a  people,  and  how  their 


56  STORY-TELLING- 

own  disposition  and  inclinations  color  their  beliefs  and  their 
expression  in  literature.  If  the  child  is  later  to  understand 
the  history  of  these  different  peoples,  he  must  become 
familiar  with  their  religious  notions.  And  so  it  may  be 
that  the  form  and  import  of  the  myths  of  a  nation  may 
be  altered  according  to  the  age  of  the  listeners. 

The  nature  myths,  of  which  there  is  an  abundance,  which 
in  the  main  attempt  to  account  for  various  phenomena  in 
nature,  deal  more  particularly  with  the  plant  and  animal 
life  which  we  recognize  as  influences  all  about  us  —  flowers, 
and  birds,  and  animals  imbued  with  human  attributes.  In 
such  myths  as  these  we  may  find  two  nations  using  com- 
mon observations  of  nature,  but  making  versions  of  them 
absolutely  different  one  from  the  other.  Consider,  as  an 
instance  of  this,  the  Norse  and  the  American  Indian  ver- 
sions of  Why  the  Robin  has  a  Red  Breast. 

In  the  first  the  setting  is  decidedly  of  the  northland.  A 
poor  little  gray  bird  valiantly  flies  across  the  glowing  coals 
of  fire  beside  which  a  man  sleeps  in  comfort.  The  bird, 
the  friend  of  man,  attacks  the  great  white  bear  that  has 
come  down  from  the  frozen  North  to  steal  away  these  life- 
saving  embers  from  the  sleeping  man  and  his  son.  When 
the  bird  flies  close  to  the  glowing  fire  the  heat  changes  the 
gray  of  the  robin's  breast  to  a  brilliant  red,  and  so  all  the 
tribe  after  him  is  marked  with  the  red  breast  as  a  token  of 
his  courage  and  his  devotion  to  man. 

The  Indian  version  celebrates  the  same  courage  and 
friendship,  but  with  a  different  tale  and  a  setting  appro- 
priate to  the  Indian 's  native  land  and  his  customs  of  living. 


TYPES  OF  STOEIES  57 

In  this  story  the  little  gray  friends  of  the  Indian  chief  save 
his  life  by  flying  in  front  of  the  arrows  of  the  chief's 
enemies,  but  are  themselves  struck  by  the  arrows  and 
stained  by  their  dwn  blood.  Both  stories  are  intended  to 
explain  a  natural  phenomenon,  and  though  different  in 
form,  they  both  give  a  poetic  reason  for  the  red  breast -of 
the  robin. 

Now,  turn  to  a  consideration  of  Oscar  Wilde's  "  The 
Nightingale  and  the  Rose."  This  tale  might  easily  be 
adapted  and  used  as  a  nature  myth  —  The  First  Red  Rose. 
Again  the  bird,  this  time  the  nightingale,  is  the  friend 
of  man.  A  poet's  lady  love  pines  for  a  rose  more  attract- 
ive than  the  pale  white  one.  The  nightingale,  the  poet's 
bird,  impales  himself  upon  the  rose  thorn  and  then  dyes 
the  white  rose  with  his  heart's  blood  to  make  it  possible 
for  his  friend  to  carry  a  red  rose  to  his  love. 

The  Nature  myths  of  the  American  Indian  are  among 
the  most  attractive  of  all.  Take  for  your  examination  the 
story  of  the  First  Water  Lily,  The  First  Yucca  Plant,  and 
the  Indian  Blanket.  The  Indians  lived  closer  to  nature 
and  were  apparently  more  sensitive  to  her  beauties  than 
other  races.  Their  instinctive  appreciation  of  bright  colors 
may  account  for  their  response  to  the  beautiful  colors  in 
nature. 

Legends.  Legendary  tales,  which  are  such  a  mixture 
of  truth  and  fancy  and  around  which  have  been  woven 
so  much  idealism,  are  dear  to  the  childish  heart  when  fairy- 
tales no  longer  satisfy  and  the  historical  heroes  are  too  pro- 
saic and  far  away.  Hence  along  in  the  fifth  and  sixth 


58  STORY-TELLING 

grades  and  sometimes  earlier  than  that  we  find  children 
reveling  in  stories  from  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey.  They 
will  listen  with  delight  to  the  stories  of  King  Arthur  and 
his  knights  of  the  Round  Table,  of  Beowulf,  and  of  Robin 
Hood.  The  Scandinavian  hero,  Frithiof ,  is  another  favorite. 
From  the  French  the  story-teller  may  use  the  legends  of 
Roland,  the  Siegfried  tales  from  the  German  store,  and 
stories  of  the  Cid  from  the  Spanish.  The  Rustum  legends 
may  be  borrowed  from  the  Persian  national  epic,  and 
William  Tell  from  the  Swiss. 

Each  group  of  stories  will  be  characterized  by  some  spe- 
cial national  trait.  The  ruggedness  of  the  Vikings  will 
appear  in  the  Frithiof  series.  The  idealism  of  the  Germans 
will  be  seen  in  the  Siegfried  legends.  These  traits  will  be 
understood  by  the  children  and  will  win  their  admira- 
tion. The  events  in  the  stories  of  Roland  attract  children 
because  of  their  natural  interest  in  heroism  on  the  field  of 
battle.  The  Cid  stories  need  to  be  selected  and  arranged 
so  as  to  bring  out  the  hero's  daring  on  the  battlefield  and 
his  courage  in  defying  the  authority  of  the  tyrannous  gov- 
ernor. The  skill  shown  by  "William  Tell  in  shooting  the 
apple  from  his  son's  head  instantly  wins  the  approval  of 
young  listeners  and  serves  to  hold  their  attention  until  the 
more  important  lessons  of  the  series  are  developed.  The 
quaintness  of  the  language  of  Rustum  is  attractive  and 
should  be  retained  for  its  own  sake.  Finally,  the  adven- 
turesome spirit  of  Beowulf  is  so  fascinating  that  there  is 
hardly  a  boy  who  hears  the  tale  without  sighing  for  other 
monsters  to  conquer. 


TYPES  OF  STOKIES  59 

To  be  most  effective  these  legends  must  be  broken  up 
into  units,  each  of  which  is  a  complete  incident.  And 
then  the  incidents  must  be  arranged  in  a  logical  sequence 
leading  up  to  the  incident  which  is  the  natural  high  point 
of  interest  for  that  particular  series.  After  the  King 
Arthur  stories  the  Siegfried  story  might  be  narrated,  ar- 
ranged in  a  series  similar  to  the  Wagner  Opera  Stories. 
Parsifal  makes  a  natural  link  from  the  King  Arthur  to  the 
Siegfried  group.  This  would  be  followed  by  the  story  of 
Lohengrin;  or  if  we  take  the  order  suggested  by  Grace 
Edson  Barber  in  her  "  Wagner  Opera  Story,"  we  might 
follow  the  Siegfried  opera  story  by  the  Parsifal  to  show 
the  change  which  came  to  the  world  after  the  Curse  of  the 
King  had  been  removed  by  the  return  of  the  evil  jewel  to 
its  rightful  owners,  the  Rhine  Maidens. 

Historical  Stories.  Historical  and  biographical  stories 
are  of  special  interest  to  older  children.  They  always  like 
to  hear  about  events  which  really  happened  —  about  people 
who  really  lived.  The  boys  enjoy  the  stories  about  the 
life  of  Napoleon.  Stories  of  our  own  country  are  full  of 
interest  for  children  of  this  age.  What  boy  or  girl  of  fifth 
grade  age  does  not  enjoy  the  story  of  Columbus,  his  pres- 
entation at  the  court  of  Queen  Isabella  and  King  Ferdi- 
ruind,  his  trip  across  the  ocean,  his  perseverence  and  final 
landing,  and  at  last  his  treatment  by  the  Spaniards  when 
lie  returned  to  Spain?  Tell  one  or  two  of  these  stories 
and  then  let  the  boys  and  girls  read  the  remainder  of  the 
history  connected  with  the  situation.  Care  enough  about 
the  history  lesson,  however,  to  tell  a  story  or  two  your- 


60  STORY-TELLING 

self.  The  added  interest  of  the  children  will  certainly 
repay  you  for  your  trouble.  The  same  may  be  done  with 
other  explorers  of  America,  if  you  wish,  or  those  of  other 
countries.  Take,  for  instance,  Father  Marquette,  Lewis 
and  Clark,  Daniel  Boone,  and  Kit  Carson;  or,  going  far- 
ther back,  consider  Cortez  in  Mexico,  Balboa  in  Panama, 
Cabot  in  Newfoundland,  and  numerous  others  which  you 
will  naturally  recall. 

The  trials  and  adventures  of  the  early  colonists  make 
good  stories,  and  the  experiences  of  the  early  frontiersmen 
in  our  own  part  of  the  country  as  well.  Take,  for  example, 
' '  The  Buffalo  on  the  Plains, ' '  by  Francis  Parkman. 

There  is  a  large  field  in  the  lives  of  soldiers  and  states- 
men—  Washington,  Franklin,  Lincoln,  Grant,  Napoleon 
and  Bismark. 

For  the  girls,  stories  of  the  life  of  Joan  of  Arc  are  always 
interesting.  Later  narratives  about  Florence  Nightingale, 
Jenny  Lind,  Frances  E.  Willard,  Louisa  May  Alcott  and 
Alice  Freeman  Palmer  will  be  found  quite  as  attractive  if 
skillfully  told. 

The  lives  of  those  wrhom  we  have  learned  to  know 
as  heroes  of  peace  are  of  absorbing  interest  also.  Mary  H. 
Wade  in  "  Wonder  Workers  "  relates  in  a  very  delightful, 
intimate  way  incidents  in  the  lives  of  Luther  Burbank, 
Helen  Keller,  Thomas  A.  Edison,  Jane  Addams,  and  others. 

The  following  series  of  stories  will  illustrate  how  his- 
torical or  biographical  material  can  be  arranged  in  sequence 
for  the  oral  story-teller : 


TYPES  OF  STOEIES  61 

Florence  Nightingale  —  Laura  E.  Richards 
Little  Florence,  pp.  9-11, 

13  — Par.  2, 

14  —  Par.  2-18,  end  of  Chap. 
Waiting  for  the  call  —  Chap.  V,  p.  40. 

The  Lady  in  Chief  —  (Give  contents  of  Chap.  IX  briefly. ) 
(Chap.  X,  condense.) 

The  Lady  with  the  Lamp  —  Chap.  XI. 

Miss  Nightingale  Under  Fire  —  Chap.  XIII. 

The  Close  of  the  War  — Begin  Par.  4,  p.  146  to  p.  158. 

The  Tasks  of  Peace  — Par.  2,  p.  162  to  p.  167. 

Ethical  stories.  One  instinctively  thinks  of  sermons, 
preachings,  and  moralizing  tales.  But  there  are  some  stories 
which  we  wish  to  give  as  a  dose  of  medicine;  for  we  feel 
that  a  certain  story  would  be  helpful  in  curing  a  social 
ill.  Very  often  there  is  a  truth  which  we  wish  to  press 
home,  but  in  telling  the  story  which  embodies  that  truth 
it  is  not  necessary  to  point  the  moral.  The  child  will  take, 
as  a  rule,  the  moral  which  fits  his  own  case.  "  The  Palace 
Raised  by  Music  "  in  Raymond  M.  Alden's  collection, 
' '  Why  the  Chimes  Rang, ' '  was  recently  told  to  a  group  of 
children.  This  group  was  composed  of  little  individuals, 
each  one  considering  only  himself  and  his  own  desires.  The 
group  did  not  work  as  a  social  whole.  After  the  story  had 
been  told,  the  teller  paused  for  a  few  moments.  The*  group 
was  perfectly  quiet,  and  then  one  boy,  who  was  one  of  the 
most  individualistic  of  the  group,  raised  his  hand  and 
expressed  this  sentiment:  "  I  believe  we'd  all  be  happier 
if  we'd  all  play  together  and  try  to  raise  the  palace."  That 


62  STORY-TELLING 

story  had  performed  a  mission.  It  did  more  good  than 
two  weeks  of  talking  and  scolding  on  the  part  of  the 
teacher  could  have  done. 

In  administering  these  stories  as  medicine,  care  has  to 
be  taken  that  an  over-dose  is  not  given.  You  cannot  plan 
to  give  a  certain  number  a  week  or  at  stated  times;  the 
person  who  has  the  interests  of  the  children  at  heart  will 
have  to  use  her  own  judgment  as  to  how  often,  what  kind, 
and  when. 

Maud  Lindsay's  "  Mother  Stories,"  and  "  More  Mother 
Stories,"  are  two  excellent  collections  of  stories  which 
point  a  special  truth.  "  The  Closing  Door  "  is  particu- 
larly good  for  girls  from  eleven  to  fourteen  years  of  age 
when  they  are  beginning  to  keep  secrets  from  mother  and 
to  feel  that  mother  is  not  quite  as  sympathetic  as  she  might 
be.  "  The  Apron  String  "  in  Laura  E.  Richard's  "  Golden 
Windows  "  is  especially  good  for  boys  of  that  age  when 
they  begin  to  grow  a  bit  restive  under  their  mother's  re- 
straining hand. 

"  The  Prominent  Man"  in  the  same  collection  is  very 
appropriate  for  the  small  boy  whose  self  importance  is 
beginning  to  grow  unbearable.  "  The  Hunt  for  the  Beau- 
tiful," by  Raymond  M.  Alden,  is  an  excellent  tale  for  the 
child  who  has  grown  tired  of  home  and  wishes  to  go  away 
and  find  something  worth  while;  for  the  time  when  the 
grass  on  the  next  hill  begins  to  look  greener  than  that  in 
his  own  dooryard.  "  The  Vision  of  Anton  the  Clock- 
maker,"  by  Walter  A.  Dyer,  shows  the  child  the  need  of 
a  vision,  of  an  ideal,  if  he  wishes  to  make  something  of 


TYPES  OF  STORIES  63 

his  life  and  leave  the  world  better  for  his  having  lived 
in  it. 

The  ethical  story  is  just  as  valuable  and  has  just  as 
important  a  place  in  the  schoolroom  as  in  the  home.  The 
whole  group  may  not  get  the  point  in  each  story,  but  if 
two  or  three  do,  it  is  worth  while.  Then,  too,  there  are 
leaders  in  every  group.  If  you  are  able  to  make  an  impres- 
sion upon  the  leaders,  you  have  won  the  majority  of  your 
group.  Do  not  be  afraid  to  use  the  ethical  story  in  the 
schoolroom ;  but  beware  of  pointing  the  moral.  As  soon  as 
you  state  your  moral  or  try  to  draw  out  a  statement  from 
the  child,  he  revolts.  He  will  usually  tell  you  that  the 
story  did  not  teach  him  anything.  After  you  have  told 
an  ethical  story,  leave  it.  If  the  child  is  moved  to  give 
the  moral  of  his  own  free  will,  very  well ;  if  not,  you  have 
not  necessarily  failed  in  your  presentation,  for  your  tale 
may  have  touched  him  in  a  manner  that  may  show  itself 
later  in  conduct,  instead  of  calling  forth  an  immediate 
response  in  words. 

Biblical  stories.  No  other  book  in  the  world  holds 
such  a  wealth  of  stories  of  various  types  as  the  Bible,  and 
no  o£her  stories  hold  more  interest  than  the  Biblical  Stories 
if  properly  told.  Consider  for  a  moment  the  number  of 
stories  of  boys  in  the  Bible  —  they  are  not  isolated  stories, 
but  trace  the  life  of  the  character  often  from  babyhood 
until  death  —  a  whole  cycle  of  life.  Take  for  intsance  the 
story  of  Moses.  The  babyhood  of  Moses  and  his  advent  into 
the  King's  palace  make  a  beautiful  story,  one  which  will 
appeal  immediately  to  the  boys  and  girls.  A  volume  of 


64  STORY-TELLING 

Bible  Stories  and  Poems  which  is  published  by  the  Illus- 
trated Bible  Selections  Commission,  gives  the  stories  from 
the  Creation  to  the  Captivity  on  the.  historical  plan.  The 
first  story  of  Moses  is  given  under  the  general  heading, 
The  Beginning  of  the  Hebrew  Nation,  and  is  entitled :  "  A 
Foundling  who  Founded  a  Nation:"  Exodus  I,  22-11, 
1-10.  The  rest  of  the  cycle  is  given  under  the  following 
titles : 

(2)  The  Courage  and  Courtesy  of  Moses:  Exodus  II, 
11-22.    This  includes  the  incident  of  Moses  and  the  Egyp- 
tion  Slave  Driver. 

(3)  Moses'  Vacation  Day:  Exodus  II,  23-25;  III,  1-17. 
This  includes  the  incident  of  the  burning  bush. 

(4)  Pharaoh  Rejects  Moses'  Plea  for  His  People:  Ex- 
odus IV,  10-14,  29-31 ;  Exodus  V,  1-14. 

(5)  The  Birthday  of  the  Hebrew  Nation.     In  which 
Pharaoh  lets  the  Israelites  Go :  Exodus  XII,  21-36,  41. 

(6)  Overthrow  of  the  Egyptians  in  the  Red  Sea:  Exodus 
XIII,  17,  18,  21 ;  XIV,  9-16,  19-25,  28-30. 

(7)  Bread  from  Heaven:  Exodus  XV,  22-27;  XVI,  1-5, 
10-18. 

(8)  Victorious  Battle  with  Amalekites:  Exodus  XVII. 

(9)  Jethro's  Reform  of  the  Government:  Exodus  XVIII, 
8-24. 

(10)  The  Hebrew  Thanksgiving  Day:  Leviticus  XVIII, 
39-44;  XXVI,  3-16. 

(11)  All's  Love,  Yet  All's  Law:  Exodus  XX,  1-17. 

(12)  Many  Other  Commandments  Besides  the  Ten:  Ex- 


TYPES  OF  STORIES  65 

odus  XXIII,  1-9,  3-19 ;  Leviticus  XIX,  9-17,  30-37 ;  Deuter- 
onomy X,  12-16. 

(13)  Moses  Transfigured  by  the  Vision  of  God:  Exodus 
XXXIV,  29-34. 

(14)  Bezalel  the  Inspired  Mechanic:  Exodus  XXXV, 
30-35 ;  XXXVI,  1 ;  XL,  17,  34-38. 

(15)  Joshua  and  Caleb,  the  Fearless  Scouts:  Numbers 
XIII,  1-3,  25-28,  30-32;  XIV,  1-4,  26-32. 

(16)  Laws  of  Kindness:  Numbers  XXI,  4-9;  Deuter- 
onomy XV,  7,  8,  10,  11 ;  XXII,  1-4,  6,  7 ;  XXIV,  14,  15,  19. 

(17)  Death  of  Moses  and  Call  of  Joshua:  Deuteronomy 
XXXIV;  Joshua  1, 1-9. 

This  is  a  very  workable  cycle,  as  are  all  of  those  in  the 
book. 

The  history  of  the  Old  Testament  ought  to  be  of  intense 
interest  to  boys  and  girls  of  this  age. 

In  the  New  Testament  the  problem  is  somewhat  differ- 
ent. After  the  incident  of  Christ  in  the  Temple  at  the 
age  of  twelve,  we  hear  nothing  concerning  him  until  he  is 
baptized  by  John  the  Baptist  and  begins  his  ministry.  So 
there  is  a  period  in  the  life  of  Jesus  of  about  eighteen  years, 
during  which  time  His  development  would  be  of  great 
interest  to  children  of  this  age,  but  we  have  to  be  content 
with  the  two  verses  which  St.  Luke  gives  us : 

"  And  he  went  down  with  them  and  came  to  Nazareth 
and  was  subject  unto  them,  but  his  mother  kept  all  these 
sayings  in  her  heart." 

"  And  Jesus  increased  in  wisdom  and  stature,  and  in 
favor  with  God  and  Man." 


66  STORY-TELLING 

Beginning  with  the  calling  of  the  Four,  after  the  bap- 
tism of  Jesus  by  John  the  Baptist,  the  following  cycle  may 
be  used  very  well : 

1.  Jesus   calls   the   Four,    Peter,   Andrew,    James   arid 
John:  Mark  1, 16-20;  Luke  V,  1-11 ;  Matthew  IV,  18-22. 

2.  Jesus  the  Physician:  Matthew  VIII,  1-17;  Mark  I, 
21-45 ;  Luke  IV,  31-44. 

3.  The  Call  of  Matthew:  Matthew  IX,  9-13;  Mark  II, 
13-17 ;  Luke  V,  27-32. 

4.  The  Man  at  Bethesda  Pool :  John  V,  1-19. 

5.  Disciples  Gathering  Grain:  Matthew  XII,  1-9;  Mark 
II,  23-28;  Luke  VI,  1-6. 

6.  The  Man  with  the  Withered  Hand :  Matthew  XII,  9-14 ; 
Mark  III,  1-6 ;  Luke  VI,  6-11. 

7.  Choosing  the  Twelve :  Mark  III,  13-19 ;  Luke  VI,  12-19. 

8.  Sermon  on  the  Mount:  Matthew  V,  1-20;  Luke  VI, 
20-49. 

9.  The  Centurion's  Servant  Healed :  Matthew  VIII,  5-13 ; 
Luke  VII,  1-10. 

10.  Raising  the  Widow's  Son:  Luke  VII,  11-16. 

11.  Jesus  at  the  House  of  Simon  the  Pharisee :  Luke  VII, 
36-50;  Mark  XIV,  1-9. 

12.  Stilling  the  Tempest:  Luke  VIII,  22-26;  Mark  IV, 
35-41. 

13.  Jarius'  Daughter  Raised  from  the  Dead:  Luke  VIII, 
40-42,  49-56. 

14.  Christ  Gives  Power  to  Heal  Disease  to  His  Apostles: 
Luke  IX,  1-6. 


TYPES  OF  STOEIES  67 

15.  Christ  Feeds  the  Five  Thousand  and  Walks  on  the 
Sea:  Matthew  XIV,  14-34;  Luke  IX,  11-17;  John  VI,  1-21. 

16.  Christ's  Transfiguration:  Mark  IX,   1-9;  Matthew 
XVII,  1-9. 

17.  Seventy  Disciples  Sent  Forth:  Luke  X,  1-37. 

18.  Christ  at  the  Home  of  Mary  and  Martha:  Luke  X, 
37-42;  John  XII,  1-8. 

19.  Christ  Teaches  the  Disciples  to  Pray :  Luke  XI,  1-13 ; 
Matthew  VI,  5-15. 

20.  Parables : 

The  Parable  of  the  Sower:  Luke  VIII,  4-21 ;  Mark 

IV. 
The  Parable  of  the  Marriage  Supper:  Luke  XIV, 

1-24. 

The  Parable  of  the  Lost  Sheep :  Luke  XV,  1-10. 
The  Parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son :  Luke  XV,  11-32. 
The  Parable  of  the  Unjust  Steward:  Luke  XVI, 

1-13. 
The  Parable  of  the  Ten  Pieces  of  Money :  Luke 

XIX,  1-27. 
The  Parable  of  the  Vineyard:  Luke  XX,  1-26; 

Mark  XII,  1-17. 
The  Parable  of  the  Ten  Virgins :  Matthew  XXV, 

1-13. 

21.  Healing  of  the  Ten  Lepers:  Luke  XVII,  11-19. 

22.  Christ  Foretells  His  Death :  Luke  XVIII,  28-34. 
Passion  Week: 

1.  Christ's  Entry  Into  Jerusalem:  Mark  XI,  1-11; 
Luke  XIX,  29-48. 


68  STOKY-TELLING 

2.  The  Last  Supper :  Luke  XXII,  1-39 ;  John  XIII  ; 

Mark  XIV,  1-31 ;  Matthew  XXVI,  17-35. 

3.  Christ  in  the  Garden :  Luke  XXII,  39-54 ;  John 

XVIII,   1-15;    Mark   XIV,    32-42;   Matthew 
XXVI,  35-46. 

4.  Judas  Betrays  Jesus:  Matthew  XXVI,  14-16; 

Mark  XIX,  42-46 ;  Matthew  XXVI,  47-54. 

5.  Peter  Denies  Christ :  Luke  XXII,  54-62 ;  John 

XVIII,  15-37;  Mark  XIV,  66-72;   Matthew 

XXVI,  69-75. 

6.  Christ  Before  Pilate :  Mark  XV,  1-19 ;  Matthew 

XXVII,  11-31;    Luke    XXIII,    1-26;    John 

XVIII,  28-40 ;  John  XIX,  1-16. 

7.  Christ   Crucified:  Luke   XXIII,   26-56;  John 

XIX,  17-42;    Mark    XV,    20-47;    Matthew 
XXVI,  30-66. 

8.  The   Resurrection:  Luke   XXIV,    1-34;   John 

XX,  1-18 ;  Matthew  XXVIII,  28 ;  Mark  XVI, 
1-8. 

9.  Christ  Shows  Himself  to  His  Friends:  John 

XX,  19-31;  Mark  XVI,  9-20;  Luke  XXIV, 
35-53. 

The  life  of  Peter  makes  a  good  story  cycle.  The  fact 
that  Peter  was  so  impetuous  and  had  such  a  struggle  with 
himself  in  order  to  do  the  right  thing  makes  him  seem 
more  human  and  in  many  ways  appeals  more  to  boys  and 
girls  than  the  stories  of  Jesus  the  Divine. 

The  life  of  Paul  makes  another  interesting  story  sequence. 
In   telling  Bible   stories,   retain   the   Biblical   language 


TYPES  uF  STORIES  69 

wherever  possible.  However,  do  not  sacrifice  the  climax 
of  your  story  in  order  to  do  this.  Do  not  drag  out  your 
story  unnecessarily.  Tell  it  simply  and  plainly  and  an 
interested  audience  will  be  assured. 


There  lived  in  the  land  near  Hebron  a  patriarch  named 
Abraham,  and  his  wife,  Sarah.  They  were  old  and  had 
no  children,  and  Abraham,  fearing  that  he  might  die  and 
have  no  sons  to  bear  his  name,  prayed  that  this  might  not 
be.  God  heard  his  prayer  and  called  him  out  into  the 
night  and  bade  him  look  up  into  the  heavens  lighted  by  the 
myriad  of  stars.  Then  God  made  a  promise  to  Abraham, 
saying:  "  Look  now  toward  heaven  and  tell  the  stars  if 
thou  be  able  to  number  them.  As  the  stars  in  multitude, 
so  shall  be  thy  descendants." 

After  many  years  a  son  came  into  the  home  of  Abraham 
and  Sarah,  and  they  called  his  name  Isaac,  meaning  laugh- 
ter. He  was  a  child  of  promise  and  the  hope  of  the  house 
of  Israel. 

When  Isaac  was  thirteen  years  old,  God  appeared  to 
Abraham  in  a  dream,  saying:  "  Take  now  thy  son,  thine 
own  son,  Isaac,  whom  thou  lovest,  and  get  thee  up  into  the 
land  of  Moriah,  and  offer  him  there  for  a  burnt  offering 
upon  one  of  the  mountains  which  I  will  tell  thee  of. ' ' 

Abraham,  arose  early  the  next  morning,  and  taking 
Isaac,  his  son,  and  two  of  his  servants,  and  an  ass  to  bear 
their  burdens,  he  cut  wood  for  the  offering  and  journeyed 


70  STORY-TELLING 

toward  the  place  of  which  God  had  told  him.  After 
traveling  for  three  days,  Abraham  saw  the  place  where  God 
had  commanded  him  to  go,  and  leaving  his  servants  and 
the  ass  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  he  bound  the  wood  to  the 
back  of  Isaac  and  with  his  knife  in  his  hand  he  started 
to  the  top  of  the  hill.  Then  Isaac  said  to  his  father, 
"  Father,  you  have  often  taken  me  with  you  when  you  have 
gone  to  make  an  offering  unto  the  Lord,  but  always  you 
have  carried  a  young  lamb  or  kid  to  offer  on  the  altar 
before  the  Lord.  Now  you  carry  none.  Where  is  the 
sacrifice  with  which  you  will  do  homage  to-day  ?  ' ' 

Surely  these  words  must  have  wrung  the  heart  of  Abra- 
ham, but  he  answered  without  hesitation,  "  My  son,  the 
Lord  will  provide." 

When  they  reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  Abraham  built 
an  altar  with  the  stones  which  he  found  there,  and  laid 
the  wood  carefully  in  place.  Then  he  turned,  and  without 
a  word,  bound  his  son  as  he  was  wont  to  do  with  the  lambs 
which  he  sacrificed,  and  Isaac  uttered  no  other  word  of 
surprise  or  protest.  Abraham  laid  his  son  upon  the  altar,, 
and  with  the  knife  raised  above  his  heart,  he  lifted  his 
eyes  toward  heaven.  Just  then  a  voice  cried  to  Abraham ; 
and  God,  who  had  been  watching  the  struggle  of  the  old 
man  whom  he  had  seen  fit  to  try,  said  to  him :  * '  Lay  not 
thine  hand  upon  the  lad,  neither  do  thou  anything  unto 
him,  for  now  I  know  that  thou  fearest  God,  seeing  thou 
hast  not  withheld  the  offer  of  thy  son,  thine  only  son, 
from  me." 

Abraham  looked  around  and  saw  a  young  ram  entangled 


TYPES  OF  STORIES  71 

by  the  horns  in  the  bushes  near  by.  He  quickly  caught  it, 
unbound  his  son,  Isaac,  and  put  the  young  ram  in  his 
stead.  And  now  God  spoke  to  Abraham  a  second  time, 
saying:  "  Because  thou  hast  done  this  thing,  and  hast 
not  withheld  from  me  thy  son,  thine  only  son,  I  will  bless 
thee  and  multiply  thy  descendants  as  the  stars  of  heaven, 
and  as  the  sand  which  is  upon  the  seashore,  and  in  thy 
descendants  shall  all  the  nations  of  the  earth  be  blessed, 
because  thou  hast  obeyed  my  voice." 

Abraham  and  his  son  then  went  down  to  the  foot  of  the 
hill  and  with  their  two  servants  and  their  ass  journeyed  to 
Beersheba,  their  home,  and  Isaac  lived  with  his  parents  and 
grew  strong  in  body  and  mind. 

— Retold  by  Nellie  Margaret  Statler. 

ISAAC  AND  REBEKAH 

Abraham  was  growing  old,  and  he  knew  that  his  days 
were  numbered.  He  wished  to  see  his  son  Isaac  happily 
married  before  he  died,  and  so  he  called  to  him  one  of  his 
stewards  and  bade  him  go  into  the  land  of  Mesopotamia,  to 
the  city  of  Nahor,  which  was  his  own  land,  and  there  find 
a  wife  for  Isaac ;  for  he  did  not  wish  his  son  to  marry  a" 
woman  of  Canaan.  The  steward  started  out  upon  the 
journey  to  the  city  of  Xahor  with  ten  camels.  When  he 
came  to  the  walls  of  the  city,  he  waited  by  the  well  to  give 
his  camels  a  drink;  and  as  he  \vaited,  he  prayed  that  God 
would  point  out  to  him  the  maiden  who  should  be- the  wife 
of  Isaac. 

There  came  to  the  well  to  draw  water  that  evening,  a 


72  STORY-TELLING 

beautiful  woman,  whose  manner  was  as  pleasing  as  her 
face  was  comely.  The  steward  asked  for  water  and  she 
held  down  her  pitcher  that  he  might  drink  from  it.  After 
this  she  went  back  and  drew  water  for  the  camels.  Then, 
as  was  the  custom  in  that  country,  the  steward  gave  pres- 
ents to  the  maiden,  gold  and  jewels,  and  said,  "  Whose 
daughter  art  thou?  " 

She  replied,  "  I  am  Rebekah,  the  daughter  of  Bethuel, 
the  son  of  Nahor.  We  have  plenty  of  room  for  you  to  lodge 
with  us  this  night."  She  ran  ahead  and  told  her  brother 
of  the  stranger,  and  the  brother  Laban,  coming  forth  to 
meet  the  visitor,  brought  him  into  the  house,  and  set  food 
and  drink  before  him. 

But  the  steward  said,  "  Before  I  eat  I  must  tell  you  why 
I  came  to  the  city  of  Nahor.  I  am  the  servant  of  Abraham, 
who  went  forth  from  this  land  many  years  ago  into  the 
land  of  Canaan.  The  Lord  has  blest  Abraham  with  broad 
pastures  and  rich,  and  now  he  has  herds  and  flocks  on  all 
the  hills,  and  treasures  of  jewels  and  fine  gold  and  silver 
in  his  treasure  chests,  and  many  camels  to  bear  his  burdens 
and  servants  to  do  his  bidding.  I  am  come  into  his  own 
land  to  find  a  wife  for  his  only  son,  Isaac ;  for  he  does  not 
wish  his  son  to  marry  with  any  of  the  Canaanite  women. 
Now,  as  I  came  to  the  well  of  your  city,  the  daughter  of 
this  house,  Rebekah,  came  to  the  well  where  I  stood  and  gave 
me  to  drink,  both  me  and. my  camels.  The  Lord  has  put 
it  into  my  heart  that  she  is  the  one  who  should  be  the  wife 
of  my  master's  son. 

The    father    and    brother    of   Rebekah    considered    the 


TYPES  OF  STOEIES  73 

matter  and  then  both  said,  "  You  may  take  her  to  be  the 
wife  of  thy  master's  son."  And  they  ate  and  drank 
together  that  night,  and  the  steward  spent  the  night  in  the 
house  of  Bethuel. 

The  next  morning  the  steward  began  to  make  prepara- 
tions to  return  to  his  master.  He  wished  to  take  Bebekah 
with  him,  but  the  mother  of  Rebekah  desired  that  she  should 
not  go  in  such  great  haste.  They  called  Bebekah  to  them 
and  her  father  said  to  her, ' '  Wilt  thou  go  at  this  time  with 
this  man?  " 

"  I  will  go,"  replied  Rebekah.  And  thus  she  and  her 
maidens  went  with  the  steward  of  Abraham  upon  the  camels 
which  he  had  brought  for  them.  As  they  neared  the  home 
of  Abraham,  they  saw  Isaac  walking  in  the  field  in  medita- 
tion, for  it  was  near  evening. 

Rebekah  said  to  the  steward,  "  "Who  is  he  who  walks  in 
the  field?  " 

"It  is  Isaac,  the  son  of  Abraham,"  the  steward  made 
answer. 

Rebekah  dismounted  from  her  camel,  and  drawing  her 
veil  over  her  face,  went  to  him.  The  steward  told  Isaac 
all  the  things  that  had  passed.  When  Isaac  looked  upon 
Rebekah  he  loved  her,  and  she  became  his  wife,  and  they 
lived  happily  together  in  the  land  of  Beersheba. 

— Retold  by  Nellie  Margaret  Statler. 

ISAAC  AND  His  SONS 

There  were  born  unto  Isaac  and  Rebekah  twin  sons,  and 
they  named  the  elder  Esau,  and  the  younger,  Jacob.  As 


74  STORY-TELLING 

the  boys  grew  to  manhood,  Esau  became  a  famous  hunter, 
but  Jacob  liked  best  to  stay  at  home.  Now  Isaac  loved 
Esau  more  than  Jacob,  for  he  was  very  fond  of  the  venison 
that  his  elder  son  brought  him  from  the  hunt.  It  pleased 
him  well  that  Esau  was  the  elder  of  the  two  and  the  one 
who  would  inherit  a  double  portion  of  his  estate,  in  the  end. 
But  Rebekah  loved  Jacob  the  better. 

Now  it  happened  one  day,  when  Esau  returned  from 
hunting,  he  found  his  brother  Jacob  making  a  very  tempt- 
ing broth,  and  being  very  hungry,  he  asked  his  brother 
for  some  of  the  broth.  Jacob  was  exceedingly  selfish  and 
cunning,  and  so  he  said  to  his  brother, ' '  Sell  me  your  birth- 
right and  I  will  give  you  some  of  the  savory  pottage." 

Esau  replied,  "  What  good  will  the  birthright  do  me  if 
I  should  die  of  hunger?  Give  me  the  pottage."  And  thus 
Esau  sold  his  birthright  to  his  brother  for  a  mess  of 
pottage. 

When  Isaac  grew  old,  his  eyes  became  dim,  and  he  knew 
his  children  only  by  feeling  of  their  hands  and  necks ;  for 
Esau's  hands  and  neck  were  hairy,  while  Jacob's  were 
smooth.  At  one  time  Isaac  called  to  him  his  elder  son, 
saying,  ' '  Go  thou  into  the  forest ;  take  thy  bow  and  arrow 
and  bring  me  some  venison.  Cook  for  me  some  of  the  meat 
I  love,  and  I  shall  bless  thee  before  I  die."  And  Esau  did 
as  his  father  bade  him. 

It  happened  that  Rebekah  overheard  Isaac 's  command  to 
his  elder  son.  She  called  Jacob  to  her  and  told  him  of  his 
father's  command  to  his  brother,  and  said,  "  Go  out  into 
the  field  and  kill  two  good  kids,  and  I  will  make  from  them 


TYPES  OF  STOKEES  75 

the  meat  which  your  father  loves,  and  you  shall  go  in  unto 
your  father,  and  he  shall  give  you  the  blessing  which  belongs 
to  your  brother." 

But  Jacob  replied,  '  *  My  father  will  know  me,  for  he  will 
feel  my  hands  and  neck  and  find  them  smooth." 

"  Leave  all  that  to  me,"  replied  his  mother. 

Jacob  did  as  his  mother  bade  him,  and  Bebekah  pre- 
pared the  meat  which  Isaac  loved.  Then  she  put  the  skins 
of  the  kids  upon  the  hands  and  neck  of  her  favorite  son 
and  sent  him  in  unto  his  father.  And  Isaac  said  unto  him, 
"Who  art  thou?  " 

Jacob  replied,  "  I  am  Esau,  your  elder  son." 

"  Come  nearer  that  I  may  feel  thy  neck  and  hands." 

Jacob  went  nearer,  and  Isaac  said,  "  The  voice  is  that 
of  Jacob,  but  the  hands  and  neck  are  those  of  Esau. ' ' 

Isaac  ate  of  the  meat  which  Jacob  had  brought  him ;  and 
then  he  blessed  him  with  the  blessing  of  the  eldest  born: 
' '  God  give  thee, ' '  he  prayed,  ' '  of  the  dew  of  heaven,  and 
the  fatness  of  the  earth,  and  plenty  of  corn  and  wine.  Let 
the  people  serve  thee  and  the  nations  bow  down  to  thee. 
Be  Lord  over  thy  brethren;  and  cursed  be  everyone  that 
curseth  thee,  and  blessed  be  everyone  that  blesseth  thee." 

Then  came  Esau  in  from  the  forest,  and  prepared  a  dish 
of  savory  venison  and  brought  it  in  to  his  father.  Isaac 
asked,  "  Who  art  thou?  " 

"  I  am  Esau,  thy  first  born  son,"  answered  his  son. 
Then  Isaac  knew  that  he  had  blessed  Jacob,  and  he  was 
sore  distressed. 

When  Esau  heard  what  had  happened,  he  was  very  angry 


76  STOEY-TELLING 

and  begged  Isaac  to  bless  him.  Isaac  blessed  him,  but  he 
could  not  give  to  him  what  he  had  already  given  unto 
Jacob. 

Esau  made  threats  to  kill  Jacob.  But  Rebekah  heard 
the  threats  which  Esau  had  made,  and  for  safety  she  sent 
Jacob  to  her  own  land,  to  her  brother  Laban.  Jacob  told 
his  father,  Isaac,  that  he  was  going  to  the  land  of  his 
mother  to  get  him  a  wife,  even  as  his  grandfather  Abraham 
had  sent  to  that  land  for  a  woman  of  his  own  people  for  his 
son 's  wife.  And  Isaac  was  content,  and  blessed  his  son ; 
for  he  was  still  strongly  displeased  concerning  Esau's  mar- 
riage with  a  woman  of  Canaan. 

In  time  Jacob  was  punished  for  his  wrongdoing,  but  in 
the  end  all  the  blessings  that  were  promised  came  to  him, 
and  he  became  the  father  of  a  noble  family.  The  fullest 
blessing  of  all  came  after  many  years,  for  it  was  into  the 
family  of  one  of  his  descendants  that  the  Christ  was  born. 
— Retold  ~by  Nellie  Margaret  Statler. 

DEBORAH 

So  long  as  Joshua  lived  and  was  their  leader,  the  Israel- 
ites walked  in  the  paths  of  righteousness  and  prospered. 
But  Joshua  had  not  been  dead  many  years  before  they 
forgot  the  promises  they  had  given  to  the  Lord  and  began 
to  make  friends  with  the  Canaanites  who  dwelt  near  them 
and  to  invite  them  to  their  homes.  The  Israelites  even 
came  to  permit  their  sons  to  marry  the  daughters  of  the 
Canaanites  and  their  daughters  to  become  the  wives  of  their 
heathen  enemies.  Soon  the  children  of  Israel  were  wor- 


TYPES  OF  STOKIES  77 

shipping  idols  even  as  the  Canaanites  did.  And  then  once 
more  the  Lord  withdrew  his  favor  from  his  people.  Again 
and  again  they  called  upon  Jehovah  in  their  distress,  and 
the  God  of  their  fathers  would  forgive  their  waywardness 
and  show  mercy  unto  them.  But  soon  they  would  forget 
his  goodness  and  would  forsake  the  paths  of  their  God. 

At  last  it  came  to  pass  that  Jehovah  allowed  his  people 
to  be  subdued  at  the  hand  of  Jabin,  the  king  of  Canaan, 
and  the  Israelites  again  called  to  Jehovah  for  aid.  Now 
in  those  days  there  dwelt  under  the  palm  tree  which  shaded 
the  tomb  of  Deborah,  the  nurse  of  Rebekah,  a  prophetess 
who  bore  the  name  of  Deborah  also.  The  hosts  of  Jabin, 
king  of  the  Canaanites,  were  led  by  Sisera,  and  these  were 
bringing  terror  to  the  hearts  of  Israel.  The  woes  of  her 
countrymen  brought  sorrow  to  the  prophetess  Deborah  as 
the  news  came  to  her  there  by  the  sacred  tomb.  To  deliver 
her  people  she  called  a  certain  Barak  to  command  the  hosts 
of  Israel,  and  he  answered  her  call  with  these  words :  "If 
thou  wilt  go  with  me  and  watch  the  conflict,  I  will  do  even 
as  thou  biddest  me." 

Deborah  promised  that  she  would  go  with  him,  and 
Barak  made  preparations  to  collect  his  army.  When  the 
people  heard  the  good  news  concerning  the  gathering  of 
the  men  of  war,  a  new  hope  stirred  in  their  breasts.  Barak 
gathered  together  a  host  of  ten  thousand  men  and  with 
Deborah  led  them  to  the  slopes  of  Mount  Tabor.  From 
this  hill  Deborah  watched  the  advancing  army  in  the  plain 
below. 

Sisera,  having  had  news  of  the  movements  of  the  Israel- 


78  STOKY-TELLING 

ites,  had  gathered  a  great  army,  and  in  addition  to  his 
foot  soldiers,  he  had  provided  himself  with  nine  hundred 
chariots  of  iron  and  many  horsemen.  When  he  saw  the 
handful  of  Barak's  men,  he  urged  his  own  host  forward 
with  a  cry  of  triumph;  for  how  could  those  ten  thousand 
stand  against  his  mighty  army  ? 

As  Deborah  watched  the  advance  of  the  two  armies 
toward  each  other,  she  cried  out  in  the  hearing  of  the 
leaders  of  Israel,  "  Up,  Barak!  is  not  the  Lord  gone  out 
before  thee?  "  And  the  army  of  Barak  rushed  down  the 
mountain  slope  to  meet  the  Canaanites  on  the  plain  below. 

Suddenly  a  great  storm  arose,  and  the  hail  and  rain 
beat  into  the  faces  of  the  advancing  host  of  Sisera,  and 
so  great  was  the  downpour  of  the  rain  that  the  river  Kishon 
was  swollen  until  it  flooded  all  the  plain.  The  land  became 
a  marsh,  and  the  heavy  chariots  of  iron  began  to  cut  up 
the  sodden  field,  and  the  horses  floundered  in  the  bog. 
Sisera,  seeing  that  his  enemy  was  undisturbed  by  the  storm, 
for  the  rain  and  hail  beat  only  upon  their  backs,  jumped 
from  his  own  high  chariot  and  fled  away  on  foot.  The 
army  of  the  Canaanites  was  put  to  confusion,  and  those 
of  its  men  who  were  not  swallowed  up  by  the  river  Kishon 
were  slain  by  the  men  of  Israel. 

But  Barak  followed  Sisera,  the  fleeing  commander, 
closely  until  he  came  to  the  tent  of  Heber.  There  Jael, 
Heber's  wife,  met  Barak  at  the  tent  door.  She  drew  back 
the  curtain  of  the  tent  and  said  to  Barak,  "  Behold,  here 
is  he  whom  ye  seek."  Barak  entered,  and  to  his  great 
surprise,  there  he  found  Sisera  stretched  upon  the  tent 


TYPES  OF  STORIES  79 

floor  dead.  Then  Jael  said  to  the  Israelite,  "  This  one 
whom  thine  eyes  behold,  Sisera  the  Canaanite,  came  to  my 
tent  demanding  rest  and  refreshment.  He  bade  me  stand 
at  the  doorway,  and  if  any  man  should  come  and  ask  if 
any  one  was  hidden  within,  I  must  answer  '  Nay.'  When 
he  had  drunk  the  milk  which  I  brought  for  him,  he  fell 
into  a  sleep,  and  as  he  lay  sleeping  I  slew  him." 

There  was  great  rejoicing  among  the  children  of  Israel 
because  the  Lord  had  again  shown  them  favor  and  had 
overthrown  their  enemies.  And  Deborah  and  Barak  made 
a  chant  of  victory,  praising  God  for  His  goodness  to  His 
people  in  delivering  them  out  of  the  hands  of  the  men  of 
Canaan. 

"  Hear,  0  ye  kings;  give  ear,  0  ye  princes; 
I,  even  I,  will  sing  unto  Jehovah; 
I  will  sing  praise  to  Jehovah,  the  God  of  Israel." 

And  after  this  great  victory  of  Deborah  and  Barak,  the 
dwellers  in  the  land  of  Israel  had  rest  from  war  for  forty 
years,  remembering  the  goodness  of  Jehovah. 

—Retold  by  Nellie  Margaret  Statler. 

RUTH  AND  XAOMI 

Now  there  was  living  in  the  land  of  Moab  a  certain 
man  named  Elimelech  and  his  wife  Naomi  and  his  two 
sons,  Mahlon  and  Chilion.  This  family  had  come  out  of 
Bethlehem-Judah,  in  the  year  of  the  famine,  and  they 
continued  to  live  in  the  land  of  Moab.  One  day  Elimeleck 


80  STORY-TELLING 

fell  sick  and  died,  and  Naomi  was  left  with  her  two  sons 
who  had  married  Moabitish  women,  one  named  Orpah  and 
the  other  named  Ruth. 

They  lived  happily  together  in  the  land  of  Moab  for 
ten  years,  and  then  Mahlon  and  Chilion  sickened  and 
died. 

Naomi,  being  left  alone,  for  none  of  her  people  dwelt 
in  that  land,  and  hearing  that  there  was  again  plenty 
in  the  land  of  Judah,  left  the  land  of  her  adoption  and 
returned  to  the  home  of  her  own  people.  And  with  her 
went  her  two  daughters-in-law.  When  they  came  unto 
the  borders  of  the  land  of  Judah,  Naomi  bade  them  fare- 
well, saying,  "  Return,  O  my  daughters,  to  your  own 
land,  and  there  the  Lord  grant  you  long  life  and  hap- 
piness." 

But  they  answered,  "  Surely  we  may  return  with  thee 
to  thine  own  land." 

Naomi,  weeping,  kissed  them,  saying,  "  Nay,  return  to 
thine  own  people." 

Orpah  kissed  her  mother-in-law  and  turned  her  face 
toward  Moab,  but  Ruth  tarried. 

"  See,  thy  sister-in-law  is  returning  to  her  own  people 
and  her  own  gods.  Do  thou  likewise,"  insisted  Naomi. 

But  Ruth  answered  Naomi  with  the  most  beautiful 
pledge  of  constancy  and  fidelity  ever  uttered:  "  Entreat 
me  not  to  leave  thee  or  to  return  from  following  after 
thee;  for  whither  thou  goest,  I  will  go,  and  where  thou 
lodgest,  I  will  lodge;  thy  people  shall  be  my  people,  and 
thy  God  my  God.  Where  thou  diest  will  I  die,  and 


TYPES  OF  STORIES  81 

there  will  I  be  buried.  The  Lord  do  so  to  me,  and  more 
also  if  aught  but  death  part  thee  and  me." 

So  the  two  journeyed  together  to  Bethlehem.  And 
when  they  entered  the  city,  the  people  hailed*  the  old 
woman  as  Naomi. 

"  But,"  she  said,  "  call  me  Naomi  no  longer,  for 
Naomi  means  gracious,  but  rather,  Mara,  which  means 
bitter,  for  the  Lord  hath  dealt  bitterly  with  me." 

So  Naomi  and  her  daughter-in-law,  Ruth,  dwelt  to- 
gether in  the  land  of  Judah.  And  it  was  the  beginning  of 
the  barley  harvest ;  and  Ruth  went  out  into  the  fields  and 
gleaned  after  the  reapers.  It  so  happened  that  she 
entered  the  field  of  a  certain  Boaz,  a  man  of  wealth,  who 
was  of  the  family  of  Elimelech,  the  husband  of  Naomi. 
And  Boaz,  seeing  Ruth,  said  to  his  servants,  "  Who  is 
the  maiden  who  follows  the  reapers?  " 

And  the  men  answered,  "  She  is  the  Moabitish  woman 
who  has  come  out  of  Moab  with  her  mother-in-law,  Naomi. 
She  asked  that  she  might  glean  after  the  reapers." 

Boaz  said  to  his  men:  "  Allow  her  to  glean  among 
the  sheaves  if  she  will,  and  do  not  reproach  her.  Some- 
times let  fall  a  handful  that  she  may  gather."  The 
men  did  as  they  were  bidden. 

Then  Boaz  went  to  Ruth,  "  Welcome  daughter,"  tie 
said,  "  thou  art  welcome  to  glean  in  my  fields.  Go  not 
into  any  other  man's  field.  Glean  among  the  sheaves, 
and  when  thou  art  thirsty,  drink  from  the  water  which 
is  brought  for  my  men,  and  when  thou  art  weary,  rest 
thyself  in  my  house." 


82  STORY-TELLING 

Ruth  gleaned  all  day,  and  at  nightfall  she  had  about 
three  measures  of  barley.  And  she  took  it  home  to  her 
mother-in-law  and  told  her  all  that  had  befallen  her  that 
day.  Naomi  told  her  that  Boaz  was  a  kinsman  of  her 
husband  and  bade  her  do  whatever  Boaz  told  her.  Thus 
Ruth  and  Naomi  lived  together  in  the  land  of  Judah. 

Boaz,  seeing  how  faithful  and  kind  the  maiden  was  to 
Naomi,  loved  her.  He  bought  all  of  the  land  which 
Elimelech  had  owned  before  he  had  gone  into  the  land  of 
Moab,  and  after  a  time  found  favor  in  the  eyes  of  Ruth 
the  Moabitess  and  married  her. 

In  time  a  son  was  born  to  them,  and  Naomi's  cup  of 
happiness  was  full  as  she  held  the  child  in  her  arms. 
And  Naomi  became  a  nurse  to  the  child.  They  called 
the  child 's  name  Obed,  meaning  worshiper.  He  became 
the  father  of  Jesse,  the  father  of  David. 

Thus  Naomi  found  happiness  in  the  land  of  Judah  with 
her  daughter-in-law,  Ruth,  from  the  land  of  the  Moabites. 
— -Retold  by  Nellie  Margaret  Stabler. 

DAVID  AND  JONATHAN 

In  making  the  acquaintance  of  the  people  who  lived 
in  Biblical  times,  we  find  that  they  were  very  human,  very 
much  like  the  people  of  to-day.  They  had  their  joys  and 
sorrows,  their  enemies  and  friends  —  true  friends  and  those 
who  proved  false.  One  of  the  most  noted  friendships 
in  the  Bible  is  that  of  David  and  Jonathan. 

Jonathan's  father,  Saul,  was  King  of  Israel,  and  by 
the  right  of  birth,  Jonathan  would  be  the  next  king.  When 


TYPES  OF  STORIES  83 

David  as  a  youth  slew  the  Giant  Goliath  and  delivered 
the  Israelites  from  the  hands  of  the  Philistines,  Jonathan 
admired  the  shepherd  lad  very  much,  and  as  he  grew  to 
know  him  better,  loved  him  as  a  brother,  and  the  two 
pledged  eternal  friendship.  As  a  token  of  his  friend- 
ship, Jonathan  gave  to  David  his  sword,  robe  and  girdle. 
At  that  timer  when  Jonathan  did  not  know  that  David 
was  anointed  of  God  to  fill  the  place  which  by  birth  belonged 
to  the  son  of  Saul,  there  was  nothing  unusual  about  the 
friendship  which  the  two  youths  formed.  Later,  when  Saul 
came  to  realize  that  it  was  David  who,  according  to  the 
prophecy,  should  take  his  place,  he  made  no  attempt  to 
conceal  his  genuine  hatred  of  the  youth  and  made  numer- 
ous attempts  to  slay  David.  Still,  Jonathan  remained 
true  to  his  old  friend. 

Saul  feared  David,  and  commanded  his  servants  and  all 
his  household  to  slay  him  if  they  had  a  chance.  But  Jon- 
athan went  to  David  and  told  him  of  his  father's  command, 
and  said,  "  Hide  yourself  until  morning,  and  I  will  go  and 
speak  well  of  you  to  my  father,  Saul." 

Jonathan  went  to  his  father,  and  told  him  of  the  many 
things  which  David  had  done  for  the  kingdom  and  asked 
Saul  why  he  should  be  killed.  And  Saul  commanded  that 
David  should  not  be  slain.  So  David  came  to  the  house  of 
Saul  again.  There  was  another  war  with  the  Philistines, 
and  once  more  David  led  the  Israelitish  hosts  to  victory. 
When  Saul  heard  the  cries  of  rejoicing  among  the  people 
and  the  women  singing.  "  Saul  hath  slain  his  thousands, 
but  David  hath  slain  his  ten  thousands."  he  hardened  his 


84  STORY-TELLING 

heart  against  David,  for  he  was  exceedingly  jealous,  and 
he  sought  to  kill  the  young  man. 

But  David  escaped  and  fled,  and  Jonathan  found  him 
and  asked  him  what  he  could  do  for  him.  David  answered, 
"  I  shall  hide  myself  in  this  field  for  three  days.  This  is 
the  beginning  of  the  month,  and  I  am  expected  to  eat  at 
the  king's  table.  If  he  question  you  concerning  me,  say 
that  I  asked  leave  to  go  to  Bethlehem,  for  there  is  now  a 
yearly  sacrifice  for  all  my  family.  If  Saul  be  angry,  we 
may  be  certain  that  he  plans  evil  against  me,  but  who 
will  there  be  to  tell  me?  " 

Jonathan  answered,  "  Come  with  me  into  the  field." 
And  they  went.  Then  he  explained  his  purpose.  He  said, 
"  After  I  have  discovered  my  father's  feeling  toward  you, 
I  shall  come  on  the  third  day,  and  shall  bring  a  boy  with 
me,  and  I  shall  shoot  three  arrows.  If  my  father  means 
no  harm  toward  you,  I  shall  say  to  the  boy,  "  The  arrows 
are  on  this  side,  take  them!  "  But  if  he  plans  evil  against 
you,  I  shall  say, ' '  The  arrows  are  beyond  thee,  make  haste 
to  flee!"  So  the  two  friends  parted. 

The  first  night  when  David  did  not  come  to  his  table, 
Saul  said  nothing;  but  the  second  night,  when  David's 
place  was  again  empty,  he  said  to  his  son,  Jonathan,  "  What 
has  become  of  your  friend,  David?  " 

Jonathan  made  answer,  "  He  asked  leave  to  go  to  Beth- 
lehem to  a  feast  of  his  family." 

Then  Saul  was  very  angry.  So  the  next  morning  Jon- 
athan took  a  small  lad  out  into  the  field  with  him,  and  he 
shot  at  the  mark  upon  which  the  two  friends  had  agreed 


TYPES  OF  STORIES  85 

—  shot  three  arrows.  He  said  to  the  lad,  "  Run  and  get 
the  arrows  which  I  shoot.  Is  not  the  arrow  beyond  you? 
Make  haste  I  tell  you."  The  lad  brought  the  arrows  to 
Jonathan,  and  he  sent  him  back  to  the  city  with  them. 

When  the  boy  was  gone,  David  came  forth.  The  two 
friends,  vowing  eternal  friendship,  parted,  and  Jonathan 
returned  to  the  city. 

Jonathan  and  his  father  Saul  were  both  killed  in  battle 
while  warring  against  the  Philistines.  David  was  sorely 
grieved  when  he  heard  of  the  death  of  his  friend.  He  also 
forgot  how  cruel  Saul  had  been  to  him,  and  mourned  alike 
over  the  death  of  Jonathan  and  Saul,  saying,  "  The  beauty 
of  Israel  is  slain  upon  thy  high  place,  how  are  the  mighty 
fallen.  Saul  and  Jonathan  were  lovely  and  pleasant  in 
their  lives,  and  in  their  death  they  were  not  divided.  They 
were  swifter  than  eagles.  They  were  stronger  than  lions. 
How  are  the  mighty  fallen,  and  the  weapons  of  war  per- 
ished." 

And  David  became  King  over  Israel. 

•  — Retold  by  Nellie  Margaret  Statler. 

QUEEN  ESTHER  AND  THE  FEAST  OF  PTRIM 

In  the  dim  days,  more  than  twenty-five  hundred  years 
ago,  there  dwelt  with  the  Israelites  who  were  captives  by 
the  river  of  Babylon,  an  orphan  Jewess  in  the  house  of 
her  uncle  Mordecai.  Now,  her  uncle,  because  of  his  up- 
rightness and  wisdom,  had  been  chosen  from  among  the 
captive  people  as  an  officer  of  rank  in  the  court  of  the  King 
Ahasuerus. 


86  STOEY-TELLING 

There  came  a  time  when  the  king  sent  his  messengers 
out  over  the  kingdom  to  summon  into  his  presence  the 
most  beautiful  and  the  best  of  the  maidens  of  the  land. 
One  of  these,  the  one  who  should  be  most  pleasing  to  the 
king,  was  to  be  chosen  as  his  wife.  Many  young  women 
were  brought  by  their  kinsmen  or  by  the  king's  officers,  and 
among  these  Mordecai  brought  and  presented  before  the 
king,  Esther,  his  niece,  charging  her  not  to  make  known 
the  fact  that  she  was  of  the  captive  people  and  that  he 
was  her  uncle.  Esther  proved  to  be  the  most  pleasing  of 
all  the  maidens  who  were  brought  before  the  king,  and  was 
chosen  as  his  queen. 

In  time  it  came  to  pass  that  Mordecai,  sitting  at  the 
gate  of  the  city,  overheard  two  of  the  chamberlains  plot- 
ting against  the  life  of  the  king  Ahasuerus.  This  he  told 
to  Esther,  his  niece,  when  he  spoke  his  daily  words  of 
council  to  her  that  day,  and  she  reported  it  to  the  king. 
These  guilty  officers  were  hanged  and  a  record  made  of 
the  service  rendered  by  Mordecai  the  Jew. 

The  king  had  appointed  Haman  to  be  honored  above  all 
the  princes  and  had  commanded  that  every  man  should  do 
him  homage  when  he  passed  in  the  street.  But  Mordecai 
would  bow  to  no  man  and  would  do  homage  to  none  but 
Jehovah.  This  aroused  Haman 's  anger  against  Mordecai 
and  all  his  race.  To  avenge  this  slight  he  went  into  the 
presence  of  the  king  and  said:  "  There  are  dwelling  in 
thy  province,  O  king,  a  people  who  disregard  thy  laws  and 
thy  person.  Now,  I  pray  thee,  let  it  be  commanded  that 
upon  a  certain  day  every  Jew  shall  be  put  to  death." 


TYPES  OF  STOBIES  87 

When  the  matter  had  been  fully  set  before  the  king  by 
the  wily  Hainan,  the  king  gave  his  assent ;  and  the  law  was 
written  and  sealed  with  the  king's  seal  and  sent  out  to  all 
the  princes  by  messengers  from  Hainan.  Mordecai  was 
amazed  when  the  message  was  read  in  his  hearing.  He 
arrayed  himself  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  and  went  and  sat 
at  the  king's  gate  till  he  could  send  tidings  of  the  cruel 
decree  to  Queen  Esther.  He  begged  her  to  make  suppli- 
cation to  the  king  for  her  people. 

Esther  directed  her  uncle  to  gather  all  the  Jews  together 
and  to  fast  and  pray  for  three  days.  "  And  I  and  my 
maidens,"  she  said,  "  will  do  even  as  ye  do.  I  will  go 
into  the  presence  of  the  king,  then,  even  though  that  be 
contrary  to  the  law.  If  the  king  extend  his  scepter  toward 
me  and  pardon  my  transgression,  I  will  plead  for  my 
people.  If  the  king  be  angry  with  me,  I  shall  die  for  my 
presumption.  But  what  of  that ;  if  I  perish,  I  perish  for 
my  kindred." 

At  the  end  of  the  three  days  Esther  did  as  she  had 
promised.  The  king  was  gracious  and  stretched  out  his 
golden  scepter  toward  her  and  inquired:  "  Why  comest 
thou,  Esther?  What  is  thy  request?  It  shall  be  granted 
even  if  it  be  the  half  of  my  kingdom." 

Then  Esther  answered,  "  If  it  please  thee,  0  King,  come 
thou  and  bring  Haman  to  the  feast  that  I  have  prepared 
for  thee." 

When  the  time  had  come  for  the  feast  both  the  king  and 
Haman  were  there.  They  enjoyed  the  fair  feast  spread 


88  STORY-TELLING 

before  them  by  Esther  the  queen,  and  at  the  end  gladly 
promised  to  come  again  on  the  day  following. 

As  Haman  passed  out  of  the  palace  he  saw  Mordecai 
sitting  at  the  gate  in  sackcloth  and  ashes,  and  Mordecai 
refused  to  bow  down  to  him.  When  he  had  come  to  his 
home  he  called  a  council  of  his  friends  and  told  them  of 
Mordecai 's  actions.  "  But,"  he  said,  "  I  am  in  high  favor 
with  the  King  and  Queen,  for  have  I  not  this  day  been 
asked  to  dine  with  them?  And  I  have  another  invitation 
for  the  morrow." 

His  friends  said  to  him, ' '  Only  the  gallows  is  a  fit  place 
for  such  a  man  as  Mordecai.  Cause  a  gallows  to  be  made 
and  to-morrow  speak  to  the  king  about  it."  The  advice 
pleased  Haman  greatly. 

That  night  the  king  could  not  sleep,  and  he  bade  his 
servants  bring  to  him  the  book  of  the  chronicles  of  his 
kingdom  and  he  found  therein  recorded  the  plot  of  his 
two  wicked  chamberlains,  and  how  Mordecai  had  told  him 
of  the  thing.  He  asked  what  honor  had  been  done  to  Mor- 
decai. When  he  found  that  no  honor  had  been  shown  the 
man,  he  sent  for  Haman  and  said,  ' '  What  shall  be  done  to 
the  man  whom  the  king  delighteth  to  honor?  " 

Haman,  thinking  he  had  found  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the 
king,  answered,  "  Let  royal  apparel  be  brought,  and  the 
man  clothed  therein.  Set  him  upon  one  of  the  royal 
horses,  place  a  crown  upon  his  head,  and  bring  him  through 
the  streets  of  the  city." 

Then  the  king  said,  "  Do  thou  as  thou  hast  said  even  to 
Mordecai  the  Jew  who  sitteth  at  the  gate." 


89 

Haman  was  much  afraid,  for  he  had  caused  the  gallows 
to  be  built  for  Mordecai.  But  he  did  as  he  was  bidden; 
and  after  Mordecai  had  come  to  the  king's  gate  clothed 
in  royal  raiment,  Haman  hastened  to  his  home  and  told  his 
friends  of  all  that  had  passed.  And  his  friends  told  him 
that  only  evil  could  come  out  of  the  thing  for  him.  Then 
the  messengers  came  to  conduct  Haman  to  the  banquet 
which  Esther  had  prepared. 

On  the  second  day,  as  on  the  first,  the  king  asked  Esther 
what  she  desired,  and  Esther  made  answer,  "  If  it  please 
thee,  O  king,  grant  my  petition  and  save  me  and  my 
people,  for  we  have  been  sold,  and  we  are  to  be  utterly 
destroyed." 

The  king  asked,  "  Who  hath  sold  thee,  and  by  whose 
hands  are  ye  to  perish  ?  ' ' 

Esther  answered,  "  Our  enemy,  this  wicked  Haman." 
And  the  king  went  out  into  the  garden  to  ponder  these 
things  in  his  heart.  As  he  entered  the  palace  again,  one 
of  his  chamberlains  said  to  him,  "  Behold  the  gallows, 
which  Haman  commanded  to  be  made  for  Mordecai. ' ' 

The  king  commanded  that  they  hang  the  wicked  Haman 
on  that  very  gallows.  And  on  the  same  day  the  king  gave 
Hainan's  position  and  house  to  Mordecai,  and  the  king 
gave  the  ring,  which  he  had  taken  from  Haman,  to  Mor- 
decai. 

And  again  did  Esther  speak  before  the  king,  and  she 
found  favor  in  his  sight,  and  after  touching  the  golden 
sceptre  which  he  held  out  to  her,  fell  down  on  her  knees 
before  him,  begging  him  to  undo  the  mischief  which  the 


90  STORY-TELLING 

edict  written  by  the  wicked  Haman  would  do  to  her  people. 
But  the  king  replied,  "  What  is  written  is  written,  and 
cannot  be  revoked." 

But  the  king  called  Mordecai  to  him  and  caused  him  to 
send  messages  throughout  the  whole  kingdom,  directing 
that  when  the  thirteenth  day  of  the  twelfth  month  should 
be  at  hand  whereupon  all  the  Jews  were  to  be  killed,  that 
the  Jews  should  be  permitted  to  gather  together  and  defend 
themselves  by  destroying  all  those  who  sought  to  harm 
them,  and  to  take  their  goods  unto  themselves. 

When  the  thirteenth  day  of  the  twelfth  month  was  at 
hand,  the  Jews  killed  many  of  the  Persians  who  sought  to 
destroy  them,  but  they  touched  not  the  spoil.  The  four- 
teenth day  they  made  one  of  feasting  and  gladness.  And 
they  caused  that  day  to  be  set  aside  each  year  as  one  of 
feasting,  and  it  was  called  the  Feast  of  Purim,  for  Haman 
had  cast  "  Pur  "  or  lot  against  the  Jews  to  destroy  them, 
but  the  good  Queen  Esther  made  supplication  to  King 
Ahasuerus  to  save  them.  And  the  decree  of  the  Feast  of 
Purim  was  confirmed  by  Esther  and  written  in  the  book 
of  the  recoids  of  the  chronicles  of  the  Medes  and  the  Per- 
sians. — Retold  by  Nellie  Margaret  Statler. 

THE  PRODIGAL  SON 

Jesus  tried  to  teach  the  Jews  that  Jehovah,  their  God, 
was  a  kind  and  just  Father  and  that  he  looked  upon  them 
very  much  as  if  they  were  his  children,  although  they  were 
grown-up  men  and  women.  He  taught  them  that  God 
rejoiced  in  their  joys  and  grieved  over  their  sorrows.  One 


TYPES  OF  STOEIES  91 

day  he  was  trying  to  make  it  clear  to  his  hearers  that, 
while  Jehovah  was  displeased  with  those  who  did  wrong, 
he  was  as  ready  to  forgive  those  who  turned  away  from 
their  sins  as  a  father  whose  son  had  forsaken  his  wicked 
life  and  had  come  home  with  a  confession  of  his  unworthi- 
iiess  and  a  determination  to  change  his  ways.  To  make 
this  plain  to  them  he  told  this  story: 

"  A  certain  man  had  two  sons,"  he  began,  speaking 
earnestly,  but  quietly  and  deliberately  to  the  multitude  that 
had  gathered  about  him  in  the  open  space  on  the  hillside. 
"  And  the  younger  of  them  said  to  the  father,  '  Father, 
eould  you  not  give  me  now  the  portion  of  thy  estate  that 
will  in  time  fall  to  me  ?  '  And  the  father  was  willing  and 
so  divided  unto  his  sons  all  that  he  owned,  giving  to  the 
elder  the  permanent  property,  and  to  the  younger,  in 
money,  about  half  as  much  as  the  value  of  the  portion 
which  was  to  be  held  by  the  elder  —  as  was  the  custom. 

"  And  not  many  days  after,  the  younger  son  gathered 
all  together  and  took  his  journey  into  a  far  country.  There 
he  wasted  all  that  he  had  in  riotous  living.  Now,  when  he 
had  foolishly  spent  all,  there  arose  a  mighty  famine  in  the 
land ;  and  he  began  to  be  in  want.  Then  he  thought  that 
he  could  call  upon  the  companions  with  whom  he  had  asso- 
ciated while  he  was  wasting  his  money.  But  now  that 
they  had  stripped  him  of  all  that  he  had,  they  deserted  him. 

At  last  in  desperation  he  went  and  hired  himself  to  a 
citizen  of  that  land  to  do  any  kind  of  menial  service.  The 
farmer  sent  the  once  rich  young  man  into  his  fields  to 
herd  and  feed  his  swine.  You  can  imagine  how  degraded 


92  STORY-TELLING 

he  felt.  He  had  been  accustomed  to  the  best  in  food  and 
raiment.  And  now  he  had  fallen  to  the  very  lowest  place 
a  proud  young  Jew  could  imagine  —  a  swineherd's.  All 
day  long  he  must  toil  to  keep  before  these  animals,  regarded 
by  all  Jews  as  unclean  beasts,  a  plentiful  supply  of  pods 
of  the  Carob  tree.  The  swine  had  all  they  could  eat,  but 
he  was  so  hungry  that  he  would  fain  have  eaten  his  fill 
of  the  coarse  foods  that  the  swine  devoured.  But  no  man 
gave  unto  him. 

Reflecting  upon  his  sad  state  and  his  own  folly  that  had 
brought  him  to  what  he  was,  he  began  to  see  what  a  fool 
he  had  been.  His  better  nature  triumphed,  and  he  came 
to  himself  and  said:  "  How  many  hired  servants  of  my 
father  have  bread  enough  and  to  spare,  and  I  must  perish 
with  hunger!  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my  father,  and  will 
say  unto  him,  '  Father,  I  have  sinned  against  heaven,  and 
in  thy  sight;  I  am  no  more  worthy  to  be  called,  thy  son. 
Make  me  one  of  thy  hired  servants.'  " 

Then  he  arose  and  journeyed  from  that  far  country 
back  to  his  native  land.  And  while  he  was  yet  afar  off, 
the  father,  who  had  been  hoping  for  his  son's  return,  and 
watching  for  him,  saw  him  coming  and  was  moved  witli 
compassion.  He  ran  to  meet  the  young  man  and  fell  on 
his  neck  and  kissed  him.  But  the  son  remembered  how 
low  he  had  fallen  and  how  foolish  he  had  been,  and  said 
unto  him,  "  Father,  I  have  sinned  against  heaven  and  in 
thy  sight;  I  am  no  more  worthy  to  be  called  thy  son." 

But  the  father  would  not  have  it  so.  As  soon  as  they 
were  near  enough  to  the  house,  he  called  the  servants. 


TYPES  OP  STOKIES  93 

"  Bring  forth  quickly,"  he  commanded,  "  the  best  robe, 
and  put  it  on  him ;  and  put  a  ring  on  his  hand,  and  shoes 
on  his  feet;  and  bring  the  fatted  calf  and  kill  it.  Let  us 
eat  and  make  merry;  for  this  my  son  was  as  if  dead  to 
me,  and  now  that  he  has  come  home,  he  is  alive  again. 
He  was  lost  and  now  is  found. ' ' 

All  the  household  began  to  rejoice  and  make  merry. 
Everyone  was  glad  with  the  aged  father  because  of  the 
return  and  repentance  of  the  wayward  son.  But  a  few 
began  to  wonder  how  the  elder  son  would  take  it,  when  he 
came  in  from  the  distant  fields. 

When  the  elder  son  approached  the  house  near  the  close 
of  the  day,  he  was  astonished  at  the  sounds  of  music  and 
dancing.  He  called  to  him  one  of  the  servants  and  inquired 
what  these  things  might  be.  The  servant  said,  "  Thy 
brother  has  come  home;  and  thy  father  hath  killed  the 
fatted  calf,  because  he  hath  received  him  safe  and  sound." 

Now,  the  elder  son  was  angry  when  he  heard  this,  and 
would  not  go  in  to  join  the  merry-makers.  But  the  father 
came  out  to  him  and  entreated  him.  Still  angry,  he  an- 
swered and  said  to  his  father,  ' '  Lo,  these  many  years  have 
I  served  thee,  and  I  have  never  transgressed  a  single  com- 
ma'ndment  of  thine.  And  yet  thou  never  gavest  me  so 
much  as  kid  with  which  I  might  make  merry  with  my 
friends.  But  when  this  thy  son  came,  the  one  who  has 
wasted  all  that  thou  gavest  him,  and  wasted  it,  too,  in  fool- 
ish and  sinful  living,  thou  killedst  for  him  the  fatted  calf, 
the  best  we  have." 

"  My  son,"  explained  the  father  with  great  patience, 


94  STOEY-TELLING 

"  thou  art  ever  with  me,  and  all  that  I  have  will  come 
into  thy  possession  when  I  am  gone.  Now  thy  brother  has 
come  home.  He  was  to  me  as  if  dead,  and  now  he  is  alive 
again.  He  was  lost,  and  now  he  is  found.  It  was  meet 
that  we  make  merry  and  be  glad." 

And  now  the  elder  brother  saw  how  just  his  father  had 
been  to  him  and  how  generous  and  forgiving  to  the  younger 
son,  and  he,  too,  was  glad.  Then  with  his  father  he  went 
in  and  welcomed  his  brother  home  and  joined  the  rest  in 
making  merry  with  feasting  and  music  and  dancing. 

— Retold  by  Nellie  Margaret  Statler. 

HELPING  THE  MASTER  * 

Where  were  all  the  people  going?  Such  crowds  passed 
quickly  through  the  streets,  talking  earnestly  about  some- 
thing. 

"  Haste  thee,  Sarah,  or  we  may  be  too  late  to  see  the 
wonderful  things!  " 

"  Tell  us  again,  Samuel,  what  saw  ye  the  Great  One 
do?  " 

"  When  we  find  him,  think  you  that  he  will  help  our 
Rachel?  " 

So  they  talked,  as  men,  women  and  children  passed  down 
the  street. 

The  whole  town  seemed  to  be  interested  in  this  strange 
journey.  A  little  lad  broke  through  the  crowd  and  pushed 
open  the  door  of  a  small  house. 

*  Reprinted  from  the  Storytellers'  Magazine,  September,  1913. 


TYPES  OF  STORIES  95 

"  Mother,  may  I  go?  Wilt  thou  give  me  some  lunch? 
All  the  town  goes  to-day  out  to  the  edge  of  the  desert  to 
see  such  wonderful  things !  ' ' 

The  mother  looked  lovingly  into  her  boy's  eager  face. 
' '  Yes,  my  son ;  see,  here  is  thy  lunch,  fresh  barley  bread, 
and  fish  just  caught  from  the  lake.    Take  thy  basket,  and 
God  go  with  thee. ' ' 

A  long,  hot,  dusty  walk,  but  what  of  that?  The  won- 
derful things  were  to  come. 

' '  On  top  of  that  grassy  slope,  see  you  that  knot  of  men  ? 
There  he  is." 

The  crowd  pressed  eagerly  on,  and  such  a  strange  crowd. 
The  blind  stretched  out  their  hands  to  be  led.  The  deaf 
kept  eyes  fixed  on  the  hill.  Those  who  carried  dear  ones 
in  litters  took  up  anew  their  heavy  burden.  The  lame 
pressed  painfully  forward.  The  lepers  followed  afar  off. 

Hush!  through  the  clear  air  comes  the  music  of  His 
voice. 

"  Come  unto  Me,  come  unto  Me  ye  weary  and  heavy 
laden, ' '  and  the  burdened  crowd  passed  on  up  the  hill. 

Bight  in  the  front  ran  our  little  lad,  full  of  a  boy's 
delight  in  the  wonders  to  be  seen  and  heard.  At  the  side 
of  the  "  Great  One  "  he  stood ;  he  joined  with  delight  in  the 
shouts  of  joy  as  the  blind  first  opened  their  eyes  to  the 
glorious  light,  the  deaf  answered  the  questions  of  their 
friends,  the  lame  rose  to  their  feet,  leaping  and  walking, 
the  sick  took  up  their  beds  and  walked,  and  the  lepers 
bowed  to  the  ground  at  the  feet  of  the  ' '  Great  One, ' '  and 
rose  clean  and  whole. 


96  STORY-TELLING 

Oh !  the  gladness  of  rejoicing,  the  tears  of  happiness  on 
the  faces  of  friends  and  loved  ones ! 

And  then  the  stories  the  ' '  Great  One  ' '  told  —  of  the 
birds  and  the  flowers,  the  animals  and  the  jewels.  Earnestly 
the  little  lad  listened  and  wondered. 

Hour  after  hour  passed.  Finally  the  "  Great  One  " 
turned  to  his  special  friends. 

' '  I  have  compassion  on  the  multitude  —  give  them  to 
eat!" 

"  Give  them  to  eat!  " 

"  Two  hundred  pennyworth  of  bread  is  not  enough  that 
each  may  have  a  mouthful!  " 

At  these  words  the  lad,  eager  to  help,  to  give  all  he  had, 
stretched  out  his  little  lunch  basket  that  his  mother  had 
given  him. 

One  of  the  special  friends  named  Andrew  stopped  and 
opened  the  basket. 

"  Master,"  he  called,  "  there  is  a  little  lad  here  who 
hath  five  barley  loaves  and  two  small  fishes. ' ' 

"  But,"  he  added,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  "  what 
are  they  amongst  so  many  ?  ' ' 

The  "  Great  One  "  smiled  down  on  the  little  lad,  and 
He  turned  with  outstretched  hand. 

"  Bring  them  hither  to  Me." 

Was  it  possible  his  poor  little  offering  would  be  ac- 
cepted ? 

With  a  radiant  face  the  lad  laid  down  his  basket  at  the 
feet  of  the  Master. 


TYPES  OF  STOKIES  97 

"  Bid  the  men  sit  down,"  the  quiet  voice  commanded. 

Like  a  large  flock  of  birds  the  great  company  settled  down 
upon  the  grassy  hillside.  Fifty,  and  fifty,  and  fifty;  in 
row  after  row.  Men,  women,  and  little  children,  crowds 
of  little  children. 

Closely  our  little  lad  watched  to  see  what  the  "  Great 
One  "  would  do.  What  could  He  do,  even  He,  with  five 
little  rolls  and  two  tiny  fish,  hardly  enough  for  one  hungry 
boy. 

The  hands  of  the  ' '  Great  One  ' '  were  outstretched,  raised 
to  heaven.  Every  head  was  bowed,  and  a  deep  silence 
passed  through  that  great  company;  for  a  blessing  was 
asked  from  God  above  over  the  little  lad 's  bread  and  fish. 

And  then  what  a  marvelous  wonder  took  place !  Basket 
after  basket  was  filled  and  handed  to  the  special  friends ! 
Back  and  forth  they  went,  up  and  down  the  rows  of  people, 
urging  every  one  to  take  all  he  required. 

When  a  basket  was  empty,  back  went  the  carrier  to  the 
' '  Great  One, ' '  and  again  it  was  filled ! 

Could  it  be  possible?  Five  small  loaves  and  two  wee 
fish? 

With  joy  the  little  lad  helped  carry  back  and  forth 
the  baskets.  Over  and  over  he  kept  repeating,  "  My  lunch 
enough  for  five  thousand  people!  "  His  little  heart  beat 
so  fast  with  joy  and  pride  that  he  could  hardly  breathe. 
For  was  he  not  permitted  to  help  the  "  Great  One!  " 

Had  not  his  missionary  offering  —  all  he  had  to  give  — 
been  accepted  and  magnified  a  thousand  fold ! 


98  STORY-TELLING 

"  Gather  up  all  the  fragments;  let  nothing  be  lost." 

And  again  the  baskets,  this  time  full  of  broken  pieces, 
were  laid  at  the  feet  of  the  "  Great  One." 

The  people  bowed  their  heads  in  awe  and  wonder,  arid 
then  leaped  to  their  feet  shouting, ' '  This  is  the  prophet,  the 
'  Great  One ; '  let  us  make  Him  our  King !  ' ' 

But  the  Master  had  disappeared. 

"  And  oh!  Mother,"  exclaimed  our  lad  that  night,  as 
he  told  the  wonderful  story,  "  He  allowed  me  to  help  Him, 
He  accepted  my  offering,  and  I  am  only  a  little  boy. ' ' 

— Eveleen  Harrison. 

SAUL'S  JOURNEY  TO  DAMASCUS 

There  lived  in  Jerusalem  a  young  man  of  Tarsus  named 
Saul,  who  was  well  versed  in  the  knowledge  of  the  law 
of  the  land.  If  he  lived  at  the  present  time,  he  would  be 
called  a  lawyer.  Now  there  were  certain  people  living  at 
that  time  who  did  all  they  could  to  make  life  unbearable 
for  the  followers  of  Jesus.  A  man  named  Stephen,  who 
had  been  preaching  the  doctrines  of  the  Christ,  had  been 
stoned  by  some  of  these  people,  and  Saul  had  stood  by 
and  held  the  garments  of  the  men  who  stoned  Stephen  to 
death. 

Now  Saul  had  heard  that  a  great  many  of  these  Naz- 
arenes,  or  followers  of  Jesus,  had  gone  to  the  city  of  Damas- 
cus in  Syria,  and  he  resolved  to  drive  them  from  their 
refuge.  Having  gathered  together  his  attendants  and  hav- 
ing received  papers  from  the  governor  authorizing  him  to 


TYPES  OF  STOKIES  99 

persecute  the  Nazarenes  and  make  prisoners  of  them,  he 
set  out  on  his  journey. 

Damascus  was  a  long  way  from  Jerusalem  —  a  hundred 
and  forty  miles.  Saul  was  anxious  to  arrive  in  Damascus 
in  as  short  a  time  as  possible,  so  that  he  might  begin  his 
persecutions  of  the  Nazarenes.  The  road  was  rough  and 
the  noonday  sun  extremely  hot,  but  Saul  insisted  that  his 
party  should  push  on,  even  though  they  were  very  weary. 

They  were  nearing  Damascus.  They  could  see  the  trees 
in  the  orchards  laden  with  fruit.  And  then  an  exceedingly 
bright  light  shone  upon  their  path.  The  sun  seemed  bright 
no  longer.  The  whole  party  fell  upon  their  faces  on  the 
ground,  but  to  Saul  the  light  meant  something  more.  He 
heard  a  voice  out  of  the  brightness,  which  said  to  him 
again  and  again,  "  Saul,  Saul,  why  persecutest  thou  me?  " 

Saul  answered,  "  Who  art  thou,  Lord?  "  And  the  voice 
replied,  "  I  am  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  whom  thou  persecut- 
est! " 

Then  the  heavens  opened,  and  Saul  saw  the  Christ  stand- 
ing at  the  right  hand  of  God.  Saul  asked  in  great  humil- 
ity, "  What  shall  I  do,  Lord?  "  And  from  above  these 
words  came  to  him,  "  Arise,  and  go  into  Damascus,  and 
there  it  shall  be  told  thee  of  all  things  which  are  appointed 
for  thee  to  do." 

That  was  all.  The  bright  light  disappeared  and  only 
the  hot  beams  of  the  noonday  sun  remained,  and  there  only 
a  short  distance  away  lay  Damascus,  cool  and  serene.  All 
remained  the  same  except  Saul.  The  Light  which  had 
opened  the  eyes  of  his  soul  had  blinded  the  eyes  of  his 


100  STORY-TELLING 

body.  He  arose  in  obedience  to  the  command,  but  he  could 
not  see  the  cooling  shade  of  Damascus  which  had  beckoned 
to  him  so  invitingly  a  few  moments  before.  One  of  his 
attendants  had  to  lead  him  by  the  hand ;  and  thus  he  entered 
Damascus,  a  changed  man,  whose  arrogant  authority  over 
the  Nazarenes  had  vanished  completely.  For  three  days 
Saul  remained  thus,  doing  nothing,  but  thinking. 

Now  there  lived  in  Damascus  a  disciple  of  the  Christ 
named  Ananias.  Ananias  had  a  vision,  and  in  it  he  heard 
the  voice  of  the  Lord  calling  to  him  and  saying,  "  Arise, 
and  go  into  the  street  which  is  called  Straight  and  inquire 
in  the  house  of  Judas  for  one  called  Saul  of  Tarsus.  For 
behold  he  prayeth  and  hath  seen  in  a  vision  a  man  named 
Ananias  coming  in  and  putting  his  hand  on  him  that  he 
might  receive  his  sight." 

Ananias  made  answer,  "  Lord,  I  have  heard  by  many 
of  this  man,  how  much  evil  he  hath  done  to  Thy  saints  in 
Jerusalem,  and  here  he  hath  authority  from  the  chief 
priests  to  bind  all  that  call  upon  Thy  Name. ' ' 

But  the  voice  answered  and  said,  "  Go  thy  way,  for  he 
is  a  chosen  vessel  unto  Me  to  bear  My  name  before  the 
Gentiles  and  kings  and  the  children  of  Israel,  for  I  will 
shew  him  how  great  things  he  must  suffer  for  My  Name's 
sake." 

Ananias  did  as  the  voice  had  commanded,  even  though 
he  could  not  understand  Saul 's  change  of  heart.  Saul  him- 
self tells  us  of  Ananias'  visit  to  him:  "  He  said  unto  me. 
'  Brother  Saul !  receive  thy  sight !  '  And  the  same  hour  I 
looked  upon  him.  And  he  said,  '  The  God  of  our  Fathers 


TYPES  OF  STUKIES  101 

hath  chosen  thee  that  thou  shouldst  hear  the  Voice  of  His 
Mouth,  for  thou  shalt  be  His  witness  unto  all  men,  of  what 
thou  hast  seen  and  heard.  And  now,  why  tarriest  thou? 
Arise  and  be  baptized!  Wash  away  thy  sins  and  call  on 
the  name  of  the  Lord !  ' ' 

After  Saul  had  been  baptized,  he  spent  many  days  in 
Damascus  learning  from  the  disciples.  Then  he  went  into 
the  temple  and  boldly  preached  the  doctrines  of  the  Christ. 
Great  was  the  astonishment  of  the  people,  for  they  could 
hardly  believe  that  this  was  the  same  man  who  had  started 
from  Jerusalem  to  persecute  the  Nazarenes  in  Damascus. 

And  after  his  transformation  Saul  changed  his  name  to 
Paul,  so  that  nothing  should  be  left  to  remind  him  of  his 
old  life.    And  after  this  Paul  endured  many  persecutions 
for  the  sake  of  the  Master  whom  he  had  first  persecuted. 
— Retold  by  Nellie  Margaret  Statler. 


CHAPTER  IV 

USES  OP  THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM 

One  of  the  best  schoolroom  uses  of  the  story  is  to  stim- 
ulate in  the  child  a  love  and  appreciation  for  good  liter- 
ature. Following  closely  the  love  of  legendary  tales,  we 
find  the  child  enjoying,  if  given  a  taste  for  them,  the  his- 
torical novels  of  Scott  and  the  adventure  stories  of  Steven- 
son. Blackmore's  "  Lorna  Doone  "  is  a  favorite  with 
seventh  and  eighth  grade  children.  Then  a  little  later  some 
of  Dicken's  stories  will  be  read  with  great  enjoyment.  If 
a  single  incident  from  any  of  these  stories  is  told,  the 
children  may  be  stimulated  to  read  the  rest  of  the  story 
for  themselves  in  order  to  satisfy  themselves  concerning 
the  fate  of  a  certain  character  or  the  outcome  of  the  story. 

If  a  cycle  of  stories  is  to  be  used,  the  oral  telling  may  be 
used  as  the  foundation  for  the  English  lesson.  From  the 
story  let  the  child  select  one  theme  or  thread  for  his  com- 
position lesson  and  write  a  paragraph.  Let  him  write  a 
character  sketch  of  David  Copperfield,  Aunt  Betsy  Trot- 
wood,  or  John  Ridd.  Other  devices  for  making  English 
material  out  of  the  stories  will  suggest  themselves.  A 
young  writer  may  get  his  first  inspiration  through  contact 
with  an  author  he  admires  and  loves. 

The  story  which  follows  was  written  by  a  seventh  grade 

102 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM        1Q3 

boy  and  printed  in  "  The  Worry  Knot,"  a  paper  published 
monthly  by  the  seventh  and  eighth  grade  children  of  the 
Colorado  State  Teachers'  College  Training  School.  This 
paper  is  printed  by  the  boys  of  the  seventh  grade  printing 
class  and  edited  by  the  girls  of  the  seventh  and  eighth 
grades. 

A  TRIP  INTO  THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS  * 

It  was  early  in  the  morning.  The  birds  were  singing, 
the  river  roaring  in  front  of  the  cabin,  and  the  pure  air  of 
the  mountains  rustled  the  aspens.  The  smell  of  the  pines 
and  cedars,  which  grew  in  abundance  on  the  mountains, 
was  in  the  air.  The  trickling  of  the  spring  was  heard  as 
it  wound  its  way  through  the  grove  of  aspens  and  willows 
which  grew  near. 

From  out  of  the  aspens  there  came  the  merry  chick-a- 
dee-dee,  and  the  harsh  mew  of  the  catbird. 

I  jumped  up  and  shivering  put  on  my  clothes.  Then  I 
ran  out  and  built  the  fire  in  the  little  wood  stove,  and 
while  mother  was  cooking  breakfast  I  took  my  fishing  pole 
apart  and  got  ready  for  a  trip  over  the  mountain  to  a 
river  called  the  Laramie.  I  ate  a  hurried  breakfast  and 
started  out.  I  walked  down  to  the  fence,  climbed  over  it, 
and  started  up  the  road. 

After  I  had  gone  about  a  mile  I  turned  away  from  the 
road  and  started  up  the  mountain,  and  after  a  while  I 
struck  the  trail.  It  was  a  trail  made  by  men  who  were 

*  This  story  is  one  of  a  number  of  original  stories  inspired  by 
Enos  Mills'  book,  "Wild  Life  in  the  Rockies." 


104  STOEY-TELLING 

making  a  tunnel  to  run  water  from  the  Laramie  into  the 
Poudre.  The  trail  was  used  by  them  before  it  was  finished 
to  go  from  one  end  to  the  other.  The  tunnel  was  now 
finished  and  the  trail  nearly  forgotten. 

After  I  had  gone  about  two  miles  up,  I  came  to  the  top 
and  stopped  to  rest.  I  had  about  three  more  miles  to  walk 
on  the  top  (which  was  a  long  level  stretch  after  you  had 
gone  up)  and  then  go  down  on  the  other  side,  which  was 
almost  impassable. 

After  I  had  rested  awhile,  I  started  again  and  came  to 
the  tall  pines.  These  were  not  more  than  a  foot  at  the 
base,  but  about  one  hundred  feet  straight  up. 

As  I  went  through  these,  the  big  gray  squirrels  chattered 
from  the  tops  of  the  trees,  and  a  little  cotton-tail  hopped 
up  and  scurried  away  in  front  of  me. 

Then  I  came  all  at  once  upon  an  old  logging  camp  that 
had  been  there  for  more  than  sixty  years,  and  except  for 
the  sod  roofs  that  had  fallen  in  was  none  the  worse  for 
wear.  I  went  closer  to  the  logging  camp  to  make  an 
examination.  There  were  six  cabins  —  one  big  long  one  for 
the  dining  room.  It  had  a  large  table  made  of  logs,  in  the 
center,  and  a  large  fireplace.  These  cabins  were  made  all 
of  wood,  even  the  fireplaces,  and  for  nails  they  used  wooden 
pegs.  The  logging  men  were  very  skillful  with  the  axe, 
and  everything  was  hewn  out  of  logs. 

I  entered  one  of  the  smaller  cabins  which,  like  the  other 
four,  had  been  used  as  a  bunk  house.  Each  had  a  wooden 
fireplace  and  wooden  bunks  nailed  against  the  walls  one 
over  the  other.  All  the  nails  and  everything  were  wooden. 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM        1Q5 

In  the  last  of  these  cabins  that  I  went  into  I  saw  a  por- 
cupine scramble. 

I  started  on  my  way  after  eating  some  huckleberries 
which  grew  near  and  taking  a  drink  from  the  stream  which 
ran  by  the  cabins. 

The  way  now  was  thickly  covered  with  high  flowers  and 
weeds,  and  more  than  once  I  stumbled  over  the  roots  hidden 
by  them.  I  walked  until  I  came  to  an  opening  where  a 
brook  ran,  and  ate  my  lunch.  As  I  was  eating  I  heard  a 
whir-rr  come  from  some  pines  and  at  once  I  knew  it  was 
grouse.  I  got  on  my  hands  and  knees  and  crept  stealthily 
forward  through  the  pines,  when  all  at  once  I  parted  the 
bushes  and  there  in  front  of  me  was  a  fine  male  grouse. 

He  was  standing  on  a  stump.  Every  once  in  a  while  he 
would  utter  a  shrill  chirp,  stretch  his  neck  and  look  around ; 
then  he  would  beat  his  wings  against  the  stump.  So  fast 
would  his  wings  go  that  you  could  not  see  them.  All 
at  once  he  hopped  down  and  out  of  sight.  I  got  up  and 
ran  along,  when  suddenly  the  old  male  and  three  others 
whirred  up  and  flew  away. 

Then  I  started  again  and  came  to  some  marshy  land 
where  the  deer  came  to  feed,  as  I  could  see  by  the  numer- 
ous fresh  tracks  which  were  printed  in  the  soft  mud.  Some 
were  the  tracks  of  a  large  buck  and  the  others  tracks  of  a 
doe  and  a  fawn.  Part  of  the  way  it  was  so  muddy  you  had 
to  walk  the  log,  and  if  you  slipped  you  would  fall  in  the 
water  and  mud  up  to  your  knees.  After  I  had  passed  this, 
I  saw  ahead  of  me  the  end  of  the  top  of  the  mountain. 
When  I  got  there  the  view  alone  was  worth  coming  for. 


106  STOBl'-TELLING- 

Down  below  was  the  Laramie  river,  running  snake-like 
through  the  many  willows  that  nearly  covered  the  valley. 
Above,  away  on  the  other  side  above  timberline,  rose  the 
great  snowy  range  up  to  the  clouds.  On  the  right  you 
could  look  into  Wyoming.  It  seemed  far  away,  and  it  was 
over  a  hundred  miles.  On  the  left  was  the  Laramie  river 
and  the  snowy  range  running  farther  and  farther  into  the 
Rockies. 

But  now  came  the  proposition  of  going  down.  It  was 
very  steep,  so  steep  that  when  you  descended,  you  touch 
the  part  behind  you  with  your  shoulders. 

I  came  soon  to  large  boulders  where  I  had  to  jump  from 
one  to  another.  At  last  I  reached  the  bottom,  and  put  ray 
pole  together.  While  I  was  doing  this  a  little  martin  ran 
over  a  fallen  pine,  stood  up  on  his  hind  feet,  and  watched 
me  with  interest.  He  had  probably  never  seen  man  before, 
for  they  are  usually  very  timid  and  are  easily  frightened. 
This  little  animal  is  very  scarce,  for  they  are  killed  for  the 
fur.  It  had  the  appearance  of  the  weasel,  but  was  not 
quite  so  long  and  slender.  Its  face  was  not  so  shrewd 
and  blood-thirsty  as  the  weasel 's,  but  it  was  a  very  pretty 
animal.  Its  color  was  brown,  with  a  white  vest,  and  it 
was  very  quick.  As  I  stood  looking  at  it,  it  went  so 
quickly  that  I  did  not  see  it  go. 

Then  I  went  up  stream  until  I  came  to  some  large  pools 
or  beaver  dams.  I  walked  out  on  one  of  these  and  made  a 
cast.  As  my  fly  floated  down  stream  there  was  a  flash, 
jerk,  and  there  was  a  good-sized  Eastern  Brook  on  the 
bank.  After  killing  it  I  cast  again  with  no  results. 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLEOOM       107 

Then  I  drew  out  more  line  and  cast  farther  out.  There 
was  another  flash,  but  I  did  not  pull  soon  enough,  and  the 
fish  was  lost.  I  east  again  and  again,  but  with  no  results, 
and  was  going  toward  the  bank  when  my  pole  was  almost 
jerked  out  of  my  hand,  and  after  a  fight  I  landed  the 
largest  one  I  caught  that  day.  After  I  had  caught  a  num- 
ber of  fish  I  unjointed  my  pole  and  started  up  again.  It 
was  about  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

This  time  when  I  reached  the  middle  of  the  top  of  the 
mountain  where  the  tall  pines  were,  I  turned  to  my  left  and 
went  away  from  the  path.  I  followed  along  the  top  of  the 
mountain  in  the  very  wilderness,  where  only  animals,  prob- 
ably, had  been  before;  then  I  turned  down  the  mountain 
again  and  came  to  the  bottom  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  the  cabin. 

I  reached  the  cabin  just  as  the  sun  was  setting  over  the 
mountain  I  had  just  climbed,  making  the  sky  a  brilliant 
red  and  reflecting  cloud  to  cloud,  and  opened  the  door  to 
find  a  hot  supper  waiting  for  me  and  a  cheerful  fire  in 
the  fireplace.  — Lawrence  Clark. 

Story-telling  is  a  failure  if  the  teller  receives  no  response 
from  the  children.  This  is  true  of  any  story  or  kind  of 
story  that  you  may  tell.  If  the  tale  is  told  merely  for  fun. 
you  feel  that  your  efforts  have  been  in  vain  if  your  audi- 
ence has  not  followed  you  closely  enough  to  see  the  humor, 
or  if  your  tale  has  failed  to  relax  your  audience. 

Let  us  turn  for  a  moment  to  the  more  serious  stories, 
taking  for  example,  "  The  Vision  of  Anton  the  Clock 


108  STOBY-TELLING 

Maker."  "What  is  the  object  in  telling  this  story  to  older 
children  ?  It  is  a  good  story  for  them  to  know.  Yes,  but  to 
be  more  specific,  the  child  in  the  seventh  or  eighth  grade 
may  be  having  dreams  and  visions  of  what  he  wishes  to  do 
when  he  goes  out  into  the  world.  Maybe  he  has  been 
laughed  at  by  some  of  the  older  members  of  the  family ; 
maybe  he  has  been  too  timid  even  to  voice  his  hopes.  Would 
the  experience  of  Anton  have  any  place  in  the  life  of  that 
child  ?  Most  certainly  it  would.  In  the  first  place  he  could 
see  what  the  vision  did  for  the  clockmaker,  and  in  turn  how 
it  benefited  the  whole  community.  Then,  also,  the  listener 
could  rightly  assume  that  the  teller  believed  her  tale,  and 
that  he  had  found  a  friend  who  would  not  laugh  at  his 
dreams  and  ambitions  in  the  future. 

The  story  of  * '  Merry  Twinkle  and  the  Dwarf, ' '  a  differ- 
ent type  of  story,  which  would  appeal  to  children  in  about 
the  fifth  or  sixth  grade,  is  a  good  story  to  tell  when  these 
children  begin  to  feel  that  money  is  the  most  important 
thing  in  the  world.  This  is  a  fairy  story,  and  the  children 
realize  that  it  is  not  true,  but  the  truth  which  it  portrays 
is  presented  in  such  a  manner  that  the  child  takes  the 
truth  for  what  it  is  worth  to  him.  For  how  much  would 
you  sell  your  smile,  your  happy  disposition,  and  your 
ability  to  make  other  people  happy? 

The  children  should  be  encouraged  to  retell  stories  which 
have  been  told  to  them ;  they  should  prepare  stories  of  their 
own  selection  to  tell  for  the  rest  of  the  class. 

So  much  for  the  appeal  of  the  story  to  individuals.  In 
the  schoolroom  the  problem  is  usually  that  of  keeping  the 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM        109 

whole  group  interested.  How  can  we  utilize  the  story  and 
gain  response  from  the  social  whole?  A  very  interesting 
and  instructive  way  of  utilizing  the  story  is  in  dramatiza- 
tion. While  preparing  this  kind  of  work  the  child  receives 
training  in  (1)  organization  of  material,  for  he  must  have 
the  story  well  in  mind  and  the  points  must  be  in  logical 
order  before  he  even  begins  his  work;  (2)  in  self-expres- 
sion; (3)  in  composition.  In  working  out  a  piece  of 
dramatization  the  child  is  given  practice  in  both  bodily  and 
mental  expression.  The  teacher  may  direct  the  drama- 
tization of  a  certain  story  or  group  of  stories,  but  each 
child  should  be  encouraged  to  contribute  something  to  the 
composition  of  the  whole.  The  different  speeches  may  be 
considered  as  to  their  merits  while  the  dramatization  is  in 
the  course  of  construction. '  Or  each  child  may  be  allowed 
to  write  his  own  version,  after  which  the  best  parts  in 
each  pupil's  work  should  be  selected  and  put  together  to 
make  the  one  whole.  The  objection  to  the  former  plan  is 
that  the  work  is  apt  to  fall  to  two  or  three  pupils.  An 
objection  to  the  second  plan  might  be  that  the  drama- 
tization made  up  from  the  versions  of  perhaps  twenty 
people  would  not  be  quite  so  smooth  or  well  organized  as 
the  other.  However,  the  fact  that  each  child  has  had 
something  to  do  with  the  production  overbalances  the 
objection  to  the  second  plan. 

After  the  dramatization  has  been  completed,  the  pres- 
entation offers  a  variety  of  work  for  both  the  boys  and  the 
girls.  Besides  those  people  who  interpret  the  play,  the  boys 
are  given  a  chance  to  conduct  or  manage  the  stage  setting 


HO  STORY-TELLING 

and  scenery.  Much  of  the  scenery  has  to  be  constructed. 
Tliis  scene-making  and  stage  carpentry  provide  interest- 
ing and  useful  work  for  pupils  in  manual  training.  The 
girls  are  given  an  opportunity  to  make  costumes.  Most 
of  the  work  is  left  to  the  children.  Their  suggestions  are 
followed  wherever  possible. 

The  piece  following  is  the  dramatization  contributed  by 
Wilma  Hamilton  in  the  sixth  grade  for  the  presentation  of 
the  story  of  the  Landing  of  the  Pilgrims  and  the  Courtship 
of  John  Alden  and  Priscilla.  The  dramatization  is  the 
work  of  a  child  and  is  here  presented  as  she  wrote  it.  To 
work  it  over  and  refine  it  would  defeat  our  present  pur- 
pose, which  is  to  show  what  children  actually  do  in  drama- 
tizing a  story,  and  not  to  idealize  it  beyond  the  range  of 
possibility. 


SCENE  I 

Scenery:  Trees,  a  large  rock,  Indians  peering  at  tha 
Pilgrims  from  behind  trees. 

Characters:  Miles  Standish,  John  Alden,  Elder  Brew- 
ster,  Governor  Carver  and  other  men,  women. 

Elder  Brewster.  Let  us  now  give  thanks  to  God,  my 
people,  for  bringing  us  safely  to  land.  (All  kneel  down  and 
pray.)  (Men  begin  building  fires.  Women  help  to  bring 
things,  such  as  food  and  clothing,  from  the  ship.) 

Miles  Standish.  Come,  my  friends,  let  us  now  go  and 
look  for  a  place  to  build  our  homes. 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM  m 

First  Man.  Oh,  yes,  let's  do.  We  might  get  warmed 
up  by  walking.  Come  on.  (Men  leave.) 

First  Maiden.    Oh,  how  cold  it  is. 

Second  Maiden.  Yes,  and  to  arrive  in  the  new  world  on 
such  a  day. 

Elder  Brewster.  Yes,  yes,  my  children,  but  God  has 
willed  it  that  way. 

Curtain 

SCENE  II 
TREATY  WITH  INDIANS 

Time:    The  next  spring. 

Scenery:  Homes  of  white  men.  Women  washing  clothes, 
and  children  playing  games  together. 

(A  dusky  stranger  named  Samoset,  an  Indian,  enters 
the  village.) 

Samoset.  Welcome,  Englishmen.  A  heap  big  chief  liv- 
ing at  Mount  Hope  to  come  here  after  me  to  see  you ;  lie 
good  chief,  Massasoit,  he  want  peace.  (Indian  goes.  The 
Pilgrims  then  hear  wild  whooping  and  yelling.  They  see 
in  the  far  distance  Indians  approaching.) 

Third  Maiden  (shading  her  eyes  with  her  hands).  Oh,  I 
think  he  is  coming  now.  See!  (She  points  in  direction  of 
approaching  Indians.) 

Fourth  Maiden.    What  if  they  are  hostile  to  us? 

Pilgrim  Man.  Perhaps  it  is  the  chief.  Don't  you  re- 
member what  Samoset  said  about  his  coming  for  peace. 


112  STOEY-TELLING 

(He  shades  his  eyes.)     Why,  yes,  I  do  believe  it  is  he. 
(Enter  Massasoit  and  Indians.) 

Pilgrims.  Why,  it's  Massasoit.  (Governor  Carver  and 
Massasoit  smoke  peace  pipe.) 

Governor  Carver.    Greetings,  Massasoit. 

Massasoit  (grunts).  Greetings.  Me  come  for  peace  for 
fifty  years.  You  agree? 

Governor  Carver.  Yes,  my  friends,  I  agree.  (Governor 
Carver  and  Massasoit  shake  hands.) 

All  Pilgrims.  "  Hurrah  for  Governor  Carver  and  Mas- 
sasoit! " 

Curtain 

SCENE  III 
MILES  STANDISH  AND  JOHN  ALDEN 

Time:    March. 

Place:    New  World,  America. 

Scenery.  Interior  of  house,  chair,  table,  fireplace, 
weapons  on  wall,  books  on  shelf,  small  stand,  the  table  by 
window,  with  old-time  ink  bottle. 

Stage  Directions.  (Miles  Standish  pacing  floor.  John 
Alden  writing  at  desk.  Miles  stops  walking.) 

Miles  S.  John,  see  those  weapons  on  the  wall.  See  how 
they  shine  ?  See  that  breast  plate  ?  I  have  worn  it  *f or 
many  years.  They  shine  because  I  have  cared  for  them 
myself  and  have  had  no  other  do  it. 

John  A.    Yes,  Miles,  the  breastplate  has  saved  you  front 


THE  STOKY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM  H3 

being  killed  many  a  time.     (Miles  takes  book  of  Caesar 
down  from  shelf,  reads  awhile,  and  then  shuts  it.) 

Miles  8.  Wasn  't  Caesar  a  wonderful  man  ?  Just  think, 
he  snatched  a  sword  from  one  of  his  men,  led  the  great 
army  and  won.  (Standish  goes  on  reading,  suddenly  gets 
up  and  goes  to  the  door.)  Over  on  yonder  hill  lies  my 
wife,  Rose.  She  was  the  first  to  die  from  the  great  disease 
we  had.  I  don't  think  a  man  should  live  alone,  John.  I 
have  something  very  important  to  tell  you  when  you  finish 
your  writing. 

John.    Oh,  I'm  always  ready  to  listen  to  you,  Miles. 

Miles.  John,  I  want  you  to  go  to  the  maiden,  Priseilla, 
and  tell  her  I  offer  her  the  hand  and  heart  of  a  soldier. 
I  'm  too  much  of  a  coward  to  do  it  myself. 

John  Alden.  Yes,  but  one  should  always  do  things  for 
himself ;  then  they  will  always  be  done  right  and  well. 

Miles.  Will  you?  (John  Alden  thinks  for  a  minute, 
goes  over  to  fireplace  and  gazes  in  and  then  turns  to  Miles. ) 

John.  I  will.  (Goes  to  Miles  and  shakes  hands;  then 
turns  and  goes  out  the  door.) 

Curtain 

SCENE  IV 
JOHN  ALDEN  AND  PRISCILLA 

Scenery:  Interior  of  house,  fireplace  and  spinning  wheel, 
table  with  books  on  it,  chair  by  spinning  wheel,  cat  dozing 
by  chair.  Priseilla  in  chair  spinning  flax.  Priseilla  sing- 


114  STORY-TELLING 

ing  out  of  psalm  book  and  petting  cat  every  once  in  awhile. 
(Eater  John  Alden,  who  bows  low  to  Priscilla.) 

John.    Good  morning,  Priscilla. 

Priscilla.     Good  morning,  John. 

John.  I  have  come  a  wooing.  (Ahem.)  (Pause.)  My 
friend,  Miles  Standish,  wishes  to  (ahem)  marry  you. 

Priscilla.    And  sent  you? 

John.  Yes,  you  know  he  is  such  a  brave  man,  and  so 
kind.  If  he  were  not  in  the  village,  we  would  have  been 
captured  by  the  Indians  long  ago ;  and  I  am  sure  you  would 
like—. 

Priscilla  (interrupts).  Why  don't  you  speak  for  your- 
self, John? 

John  A.  Oh,  I,  why,  I  must  be  going.  You  see.— Good- 
bye. (Priscilla  laughs  and  begins  to  sing.  John  goes.) 

Curtain 

SCENE  V 
SAME  AS  SCENE  III 

(Enter  John  Alden.) 

Miles  S.  Why,  John,  yon  have  been  gone  a  long  time. 
Come  and  sit  down  and  tell  me  all  that  has  happened. 

John  A.  When  I  told  Priscilla  your  message,  she  asked 
why  you  had  sent  me.  Then  I  told  her  you  were  so  brave 
and  kind,  but  she  said,  "  Why  don't  you  speak  for  your- 
self, John?  " 


THE  STORY  IX  THE  SCHOOLROOM  H5 

Miles  S.  (jumping  up  in  anger).  Ah,  John,  you  have 
betrayed  me.  There  shall  be  nothing  but  hatred  between 
us  from  now  on. 

Messenger  (entering).    Captain,  the  Indians  are  coming. 

Miles  8.  (puts  on  armor  and  leaves  without  saying  good- 
bye to  John  Alden.) 

Curtain 

SCENE  yi 
FIGHT  WITH  THE  INDIANS 

Scenery:     Trees  and  rocks. 

Characters:  Miles  Standish  and  Pilgrim  men,  Indians. 
Indians  peering  from  behind  trees. 

Indian.    Give  us  furs  and  powder. 

Miles  S.    No,  well  give  you  this  Bible. 

Indian.  Ah,  I  can  see  by  the  fiery  eyes  of  the  captain 
that  he  is  angry,  but  Watawamat  is  not  afraid.  No.  See 
this  dagger?  I  have  another  at  home  just  like  it. 

Second  Indian.  Yes,  by  and  by  it  shall  see,  it  shall  eat, 
but  it  shall  speak  not.  You  are  the  mighty  captain  sent  to 
destroy  us.  You  are  a  little  man.  You  should  work  with 
the  women. 

Miles.  (Angrily  jumps  forth  and  kills  the  two  Indians.) 

Third  Indian.  Ah,  the  Indians  call  you  a  little  man. 
Yes.  but  yet  you  have  been  big  enough  to  lay  these  speech- 
less before  you. 

Curtain 


116  STORY-TELLING 

SCENE  VII 

WEDDING  OP  PRISCILLA  AND  JOHN.    RETURN  OF  MILES  S. 

Scenery:  Interior  of  church.  Elder  Brewster  marrying 
Priscilla  and  John  Alden. 

Characters:  Pilgrims,  Elder  Brewster,  Priscilla  and  John 
Alden,  Miles  Standish. 

Pilgrim  Maiden.    Congratulations,  Priscilla. 

Pilgrim  Mwii.     Congratulations,  John. 

(All  shake  hands  with  John  and  Priscilla.) 

(Enter  Miles  Standish.  All  start  and  look  at  Miles  S. 
He  steps  forth  and  lays  his  hand  on  John.) 

Miles  8.  Congratulations,  John  and  Priscilla.  Forgive 
me.  One  should  do  things  for  himself  and  not  have  others 
do  them  for  him ;  then  he  wbuld  most  likely  get  what  he 
seeks.  (All  cheer  and  start  off  stage.)  Now  we  shall  have 
a  feast,  shall  we  not  my  friends? 

Maiden.    Yes,  let's  do. 

All.  Yes,  Hurray  for  John  Alden  and  Priscilla,  and  also 
for  Miles  Standish. 

Curtain 

End. 
SAINT  NICHOLAS* 

Of  all  the  saints  that  little  children  love  is  there  any  one 
to  compare  with  Santa  Glaus  ?  The  very  sound  of  his  name 
has  magic  in  it,  and  calls  up  visions  of  well-filled  stockings, 

*  Used  by  permission  of  Miss  Amy  Steedman  and  Messrs.  T.  C. 
and  E.  C.  Jack.  From  "  In  God's  Garden."  Copyrighted. 


THE  STOEY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM  H7 

with  the  presents  we  particularly  want  peeping  over  the 
top,  or  hanging  out  at  the  side,  too  big  to  go  into  the  largest 
sock.  Besides,  there  is  something  so  mysterious  and  excit- 
ing about  Santa  Glaus,  for  no  one  seems  to  have  ever  seen 
him.  But  we  picture  him  to  ourselves  as  an  old  man  with 
a  white  beard,  whose  favorite  way  of  coming  into  our  rooms 
is  down  the  chimney,  bringing  gifts  for  the  good  children 
and  punishments  for  the  bad. 

Yet  this  Santa  Glaus,  in  whose  name  the  presents  come 
to  us  at  Christmas  time,  is  a  very  real  saint,  and  we  can 
learn  a  great  deal  about  him,  only  we  must  remember  that 
his  true  name  is  Saint  Nicholas.  Perhaps  the  little  children, 
who  used  to  talk  of  him  long  ago,  found  Saint  Nicholas  too 
difficult  to  say,  and  so  called  him  their  dear  Santa  Glaus. 
But  we  learn,  as  we  grow  older,  that  Nicholas  is  his  true 
name,  and  that  he  is  a  real  person  who  lived  long  years 
ago,  far  away  in  the  East. 

The  father  and  mother  of  Nicholas  were  noble  and  very 
rich,  but  what  they  wanted  most  of  all  was  to  have  a  son. 

They  thought  there  was  no  one  like  their  boy.  But  alas, 
while  he  was  still  a  child,  a  terrible  plague  swept  over  the 
country,  and  his  father  and  mother  died,  leaving  him  quite 
alone. 

All  the  great  riches  which  his  father  had  possessed  were 
left  to  Nicholas,  and  among  other  things  he  inherited  three 
bars  of  gold.  These  golden  bars  were  his  greatest  treasure, 
and  he  thought  more  of  them  than  all  the  other  riches  he 
possessed. 

Now  in  the  town  where  Nicholas  lived  there  dwelt  a 


118  STOEY-TELLING 

nobleman  with  three  daughters.  They  had  once  been  very 
rich,  but  great  misfortunes  had  overtaken  the  father,  and 
now  they  were  all  so  poor  they  had  scarcely  enough  to 
live  upon. 

At  last  a  day  came  when  there  was  not  even  bread  enough 
to  eat,  and  the  daughters  said  to  their  father : 

"  Let  us  go  out  into  the  streets  and  beg,  or  do  anything 
to  get  a  little  money,  that  we  may  not  starve." 

But  the  father  answered : 

"  Not  to-night.  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  it.  Wait  at 
least  until  to-morrow.  Something  may  happen  to  save  my 
daughters  from  such  disgrace." 

Now,  just  as  they  were  talking  together,  Nicholas  hap- 
pened to  be  passing,  and  as  the  window  was  open  he  heard 
all  that  the  poor  father  said.  He  tried  to  plan  how  it  would 
be  possible  to  help  them.  He  knew  they  would  be  much 
too  proud  to  take  money  from  him,  so  he  had  to  think  of 
some  other  way.  Then  he  remembered  his  golden  bars, 
and  that  very  night  he  took  one  of  them  and  went  secretly 
to  the  nobleman's  house,  hoping  to  give  the  treasure  with- 
out letting  the  father  or  daughers  know  who  brought  it. 

To  his  joy  Nicholas  discovered  that  a  little  window  had 
been  left  open,  and  by  standing  on  tiptoe  he  x?ould  just 
reach  it.  So  he  lifted  the  golden  bar  and  slipped  it 
through  the  window,  never  waiting  to  hear  what  became  of 
it,  lest  one  should  see  him.  (And  now  do  you  see  the  reason 
why  the  visits  of  Santa  Glaus  are  so  mysterious?) 

Inside  the  house  the  poor  father  sat  sorrowfully  watch- 
ing, while  his  children  slept.  Suddenly  something  fell  at 


THE  STOEY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM        119 

his  feet,  and  to  his  amazement  and  joy,  he  found  it  was  a 
bar  of  pure  gold. 

"  My  child,"  he  cried,  as  he  showed  his  eldest  daughter 
the  shining  gold,  "  God  has  heard  my  prayer  and  has  sent 
this  from  heaven.  Now  we  shall  have  enough  and  to  spare. 
Call  your  sisters  that  we  may  rejoice  together,  and  I  wiJl 
go  instantly  and  change  this  treasure.'' 

The  precious  golden  bar  was  soon  sold  to  a  money- 
changer, who  gave  so  much  for  it  that  the  family  was 
able  to  live  in  comfort  and  have  all  that  they  needed.  And 
not  only  was  there  enough  to  live  upon,  but  so  much  was 
over  that  the  father  gave  his  eldest  daughter  a  large  dowry, 
and  very  soon  she  was  happily  married. 

When  Nicholas  saw  how  much  happiness  his  golden  bar 
had  brought  to  the  poor  nobleman,  he  determined  that  the 
second  daughter  should  have  a  dowry  too.  So  he  went  as 
before  and  found  the  little  window  again  open,  and  was 
able  to  throw  in  the  second  golden  bar  as  he  had  done  the 
first.  This  time  the  father  was  dreaming  happily,  and  did 
not  find  the  treasure  until  he  awoke  in  the  morning.  Soon 
afterwards  the  second  daughter  had  her  dowry  and  was 
married  too. 

'  The  father  now  began  to  think  that,  after  all,  it  was  not 
usual  for  golden  bars  to  fall  from  heaven,  and  he  wondered 
if  by  any  chance  human  hands  had  placed  them  in  his  room. 
The  more  he  thought  of  it  the  stranger  it  seemed,  and  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  keep  watch  every  night,  in  case 
another  golden  bar  should  be  sent  as  a  portion  for  his 
youngest  daughter. 


120  STORY-TELLING 

And  so  when  Nicholas  went  the  third  time  and  dropped 
the  last  bar  through  the  little  window,  the  father  came 
quickly  out,  and  before  Nicholas  had  time  to  hide,  caught 
him  by  his  cloak. 

"  O  Nicholas,"  he  cried,  "  is  it  thou  who  hast  helped  us 
in  our  need?  Why  didst  thou  hide  thyself?  "  And  then 
he  fell  on  his  knees  and  began  to  kiss  the  hands  that  had 
helped  him  so  graciously. 

But  Nicholas  bade  him  stand  up  and  give  thanks  to  God 
instead,  warning  him  to  tell  no  one  the  story  of  the  golden 
bars. 

This  was  only  one  of  the  many  kind  acts  Nicholas  loved 
to  do,  and  it  was  no  wonder  that  he  was  beloved  by  all 
who  knew  him. 

Soon  afterwards  Nicholas  made  up  his  mind  to  enter 
God's  service  as  a  priest.  He  longed  above  all  things  to 
leave  the  world  and  live  as  a  hermit  in  the  desert,  but 
God  came  to  him  in  a  vision  and  told  him  he  must  stay  in 
the  crowded  cities  and  do  his  work  among  the  people.  Still 
his  desire  to  see  the  deserts  and  the  hermits  who  lived  there 
was  so  great  that  he  went  off  on  a  journey  to  Egypt  and 
the  Holy  Land.  But  remembering  what  God  had  bade  him 
do,  he  did  not  stay  there,  but  returned  to  his  own  country. 

On  the  way  home,  a  terrific  storm  arose,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  the  ship  he  was  in  must  be  lost.  The  sailors  could 
do  nothing,  and  great  waves  dashed  over  the  deck,  filling 
the  ship  with  water.  But  just  as  all  had  given  up  hope. 
Nicholas  knelt  and  prayed  to  God  to  save  them,  and  imme- 
diately a  calm  fell  upon  the  angry  sea. 


THE  STOEY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM        121 

Thus  Nicholas  returned  home  in  safety,  and  went  to  live 
in  the  city  of  Myra.  His  ways  were  so  quiet  and  humble 
that  no  one  knew  much  about  him,  until  it  came  to  pass 
one  day  that  the  Archbishop  of  Myra  died.  Then  all  the 
priests  met  to  choose  another  archbishop,  and  it  was  made 
known  to  them  by  a  sign  from  heaven  that  the  first  man 
who  should  enter  the  church  next  morning  should  be  the 
bishop  whom  God  had  chosen. 

Now  Nicholas  used  to  spend  most  of  his  nights  in  prayer 
and  always  went  very  early  to  church,  so  next  morning  just 
as  the  sun  was  rising  and  the  bells  were  beginning  to  ring 
for  the  early  mass,  he  was  seen  coming  up  to  the  church 
door  and  was  the  first  to  enter.  As  he  knelt  down  quietly 
to  say  his  prayers  as  usual,  what  was  his  surprise  to  meet 
a  company  of  priests  who  hailed  him  as  their  new  arch- 
bishop, chosen  by  God  to  be  their  leader  and  guide.  So 
Nicholas  was  made  Archbishop  of  Myra,  to  the  joy  of  all 
in  the  city  who  knew  and  loved  him. 

Not  long  after  this  a  terrible  famine  swept  over  the  land. 
Nicholas,  as  a  good  bishop  should,  felt  the  suffering  of  his 
people  as  if  it  were  his  own,  and  did  all  he  could  to  help 
them. 

He  knew  that  they  must  have  corn  or  they  would  die, 
so  he  went  to  the  harbor  where  two  ships  lay  filled  with 
grain,  and  asked  the  captains  if  they  would  sell  him  their 
cargo.  They  told  the  bishop  they  would  willingly  do  so, 
but  it  was  already  sold  to  merchants  of  another  country 
and  they  dared  not  sell  it  over  again. 

"  Take  no  thought  of  that,"  said  Nicholas,  "  only  sell 


]  2_>  STORY-TELLING 

me  some  of  thy  corn  for  my  starving  people,  and  I  promise 
thee  that  there  shall  be  nought  wanting  when  thou  shalt 
arrive  at  thy  journey's  end." 

The  captains  believed  in  the  bishop's  promise  and  gave 
him  as  much  corn  as  he  asked.  And  behold !  when  they 
came  to  deliver  their  cargo  to  the  owners,  there  was  not  a 
bag  lacking. 

There  were  two  men  in  Myra  who  had  been  unjustly 
condemned  to  death,  and  it  was  told  the  bishop  how  greatly 
they  stood  in  need  of  his  help.  The  executioner  was  just 
about  to  raise  his  sword,  when  Nicholas  seized  his  arm  and 
wrenched  the  sword  away.  Then  he  set  the  poor  prisoners 
free  and  told  the  judge  that,  if  he  dared  to  deal  so  unjustly 
again,  the  wrath  of  heaven  and  of  the  Bishop  of  Myra 
would  descend  upon  him. 

There  are  many  other  stories  told  about  the  good  bishop. 
Like  his  Master,  he  ever  went  about  doing  good ;  and  when 
he  died,  there  were  a  great  many  legends  told  about  him, 
for  the  people  loved  to  believe  that  their  bishop  still  cared 
for  them  and  would  come  to  their  aid.  We  do  not  know 
whether  all  these  legends  are  true,  but  they  show  how  much 
Saint  Nicholas  was  loved  and  honored  even  after  his  death, 
and  how  every  one  believed  in  his  power  to  help  them. 

— Amy  Steedman. 

SAINT  NICHOLAS  AND  THE  NOBLEMAN'S  SON 

Here  is  one  of  the  stories  which  all  children  who  love 
Saint  Nicholas  will  like  to  hear. 

There  was  once  a  nobleman  who  had  no  children  and 


THE  STOEY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM        123 

longed  for  a  son  above  everything  else  in  the  world.  Night 
and  day  he  prayed  to  Saint  Nicholas  that  he  would  grant 
him  his  request,  and  at  last  a  son  was  born.  He  was  a 
beautiful  child,  and  the  father  was  so  delighted  and  so 
grateful  to  the  saint  who  had  listened  to  his  prayers  that, 
every  year  on  the  child's  birthday,  he  made  a  great  feast 
in  honour  of  Saint  Nicholas  and  a  grand  service  was  held 
in  the  church. 

Now  the  Evil  One  grew  very  angry  each  year  when  this 
happened,  for  it  made  many  people  go  to  church  and  honor 
the  good  saint,  neither  of  which  things  pleased  the  Evil 
One  at  all.  So  each  year  he  tried  to  think  of  some  plan 
that  would  put  an  end  to  these  rejoicings,  and  he  decided 
at  last  that  if  only  he  could  do  some  evil  to  the  child,  the 
parents  would  blame  Saint  Nicholas  and  all  would  be  well. 

It  happened  just  then  to  be  the  boy's  sixth  birthday,  and 
a  greater  feast  than  ever  was  being  held.  It  was  late  in 
the  afternoon,  and  the  gardener,  the  porter  and  all  the 
servants  were  away  keeping  holiday  too.  So  no  one  noticed 
a  curious-looking  pilgrim  who  came  and  sat  close  to  the 
great  iron  gates  which  led  into  the  courtyard.  He  had  on 
the  ordinary  robe  of  a  poor  pilgrim,  but  the  hood  was  drawn 
so  far  over  his  face  that  nothing  but  a  dark  shadow  could 
be  seen  inside.  And  indeed  that  was  as  well,  for  this  pil- 
grim was  a  demon  in  disguise,  and  his  wicked,  black  face 
would  have  frightened  any  one  who  saw  it.  He  could  not 
enter  the  courtyard,  for  the  great  gates  were  always  kept 
locked,  and,  as  you  know,  the  porter  was  away  that  day, 
feasting  with  all  the  other  servants. 


124  STORY-TELLING 

But,  before  very  long,  the  little  boy  grew  weary  of  his 
birthday  feast,  and  having  had  all  he  wanted,  he  begged 
to  be  allowed  to  go  to  play  in  the  garden.  His  parents 
knew  that  the  gardener  always  looked  after  him  there,  so 
they  told  him  he  might  go.  They  forgot  that  the  gardener 
was  not  there  just  then. 

The  child  played  happily  alone  for  some  time  and  then 
wandered  into  the  courtyard,  and  looking  out  of  the  gate 
saw  a  poor  pilgrim  resting  there. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?  "  asked  the  child,  "  and 
why  do  you  sit  so  still  ?  ' ' 

"  I  am  a  poor  pilgrim,"  answered  the  demon,  trying  to 
make  his  harsh  voice  sound  as  gentle  as  possible,  "  and  I 
have  come  all  the  way  from  Rome.  I  am  resting  here 
because  I  am  so  weary  and  footsore  and  have  had  nothing 
to  eat  all  day." 

"  I  will  let  you  in  and  take  you  to  my  father,"  said  the 
child;  "  this  is  my  birthday,  and  no  one  must  go  hungry 
to-day." 

But  the  demon  pretended  he  was  too  weak  to  walk,  and 
begged  the  boy  to  bring  some  food  out  to  him. 

Then  the  child  ran  back  to  the  banquet  hall  in  a  great 
hurry  and  said  to  his  father: 

"  O  father,  there  is  a  poor  pilgrim  from  Rome  sitting 
outside  our  gate,  and  he  is  so  hungry.  May  I  take  him 
some  of  my  birthday  feast?  " 

The  father  was  very  much  pleased  to  think  that  his  son 
should  care  for  the  poor  and  wish  to  be  kind,  so  he  willingly 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM  125 

gave  his  permission  and  told  one  of  the  servants  to  give 
the  child  all  that  he  wanted. 

Then  as  the  demon  sat  eating  the  good  things,  he  began 
to  question  the  boy  and  tried  to  find  out  all  that  he  could 
about  him. 

' '  Do  you  often  play  in  the  garden  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  the  child,  "  I  play  there  whenever  I  may, 
for  in  the  midst  of  the  lawn  there  is  a  beautiful  fountain, 
and  the  gardener  makes  me  boats  to  sail  on  the  water. ' ' 

"  Will  he  make  you  one  to-day?  "  asked  the  demon 
quickly. 

"  He  is  not  here  to-day,"  answered  the  child,  "  for  this 
is  a  holiday  for  every  one  and  I  am  quite  alone." 

Then  the  demon  rose  to  his  feet  slowly  and  said  he  felt 
so  much  better  after  the  good  food,  that  he  thought  he 
could  walk  a  little,  and  would  like  very  much  to  come  in 
and  see  the  beautiful  garden  and  the  fountain  he  had 
heard  about. 

So  the  child  climbed  up  and  with  great  difficulty  drew 
back  the  bolts.  The  great  gates  swung  open  and  the  demon 
walked  in. 

As  they  went  along  together  towards  the  fountain,  the 
child  held  out  his  little  hand  to  lead  the  pilgrim,  but  even 
the  demon  shrank  from  touching  anything  so  pure  and 
innocent,  and  folded  his  arms  under  his  robe,  so  that  the 
child  could  only  hold  by  a  fold  of  his  cloak. 

"  What  strange  kind  of  feet  you  have,"  said  the  child 
as  they  walked  along;  "  they  look  as  if  they  belonged  to 
an  animal." 


126  STOKY-TELLING 

"  Yes,  they  are  curious,"  said  the  demon,  "  but  it  is 
just  the  way  they  are  made." 

Then  the  child  began  to  notice  the  demon's  hands,  which 
were  even  more  strange  than  his  feet,  and  just  like  the 
paws  of  a  bear.  But  he  was  too  courteous  to  say  anything 
about  them,  when  he  had  already  mentioned  the  feet. 

Just  then  they  came  to  the  fountain,  and  with  a  sudden 
movement  the  demon  threw  back  his  hood  and  showed  his 
dreadful  face.  And  before  the  child  could  scream  he  was 
seized  by  those  hairy  hands  and  thrown  into  the  water. 

But  just  at  that  moment  the  gardener  was  returning  to 
his  work  and  saw  from  a  distance  what  had  happened. 
He  ran  as  fast  as  he  could,  but  he  only  got  to  the  fountain 
in  time  to  see  the  demon  vanish,  while  the  child's  body 
was  floating  on  the  water.  Very  quickly  he  drew  him  out 
and  carried  him,  all  dripping  wet,  up  to  the  castle,  where 
they  tried  to  bring  him  back  to  life.  But  alas !  it  all  seemed 
of  no  use,  he  neither  moved  nor  breathed ;  and  the  day  that 
had  begun  with  such  rejoicing  ended  in  the  bitterest  woe. 
The  poor  parents  were  heartbroken,  but  they  did  not  quite 
lose  hope  and  prayed  earnestly  to  Saint  Nicholas,  who  had 
given  them  the  child,  that  he  would  restore  their  boy  to 
them  again. 

As  they  prayed  by  the  side  of  the  little  bed  where  the 
body  of  the  child  lay,  they  thought  something  moved,  and 
to  their  joy  and  surprise  the  boy  opened  his  eyes  and  sat 
up,  and  in  a  short  time  was  as  well  as  ever. 

They  asked  him  eagerly  what  had  happened,  and  he  told 
them  all  about  the  pilgrim  with  the  queer  feet  and  hands, 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM        127 

who  had  gone  with  him  to  the  fountain  and  had  then  thrown 
back  his  hood  and  shown  his  terrible  face.  After  that  he 
could  remember  nothing  until  he  found  himself  in  a  beauti- 
ful garden,  where  the  loveliest  flowers  grew.  There  were 
lilies  like  white  stars,  and  roses  far  more  beautiful  than 
any  he  had  ever  seen  in  his  own  garden,  and  the  leaves  of 
the  trees  shone  like  silver  and  gold.  It  was  all  so  beautiful 
that  for  a  while  he  forgot  about  his  home,  and  when  he 
did  remember  and  tried  to  find  his  way  back,  he  grew  bewil- 
dered and  did  not  know  in  what  direction  to  turn.  As  he 
was  looking  about,  an  old  man  came  down  the  garden  path 
and  smiled  so  kindly  upon  him  that  he  trusted  him  at 
once.  This  old  man  was  dressed  in  the  robes  of  a  bishop, 
and  had  a  long  white  beard  and  the  sweetest  old  face  the 
child  had  ever  seen. 

"  Art  thou  searching  for  the  way  home?  "  the  old  man 
asked.  ' '  Dost  thou  wish  to  leave  this  beautiful  garden  and 
go  back  to  thy  father  and  mother?  " 

"  I  want  to  go  home,"  said  the  child,  with  a  sob  in  his 
voice,  "  but  I  cannot  find  the  way,  and  I  am,  oh,  so  tired 
of  searching  for  it!  " 

Then  the  old  man  stooped  down  and  lifted  him  in  his 
arm's,  and  the  child  laid  his  head  on  the  old  man 's  shoulder, 
and,  weary  with  his  wanderings,  fell  fast  asleep  and  remem- 
bered nothing  more  till  he  woke  up  in  his  own  little  bed. 

Then  the  parents  knew  that  Saint  Nicholas  had  heard 
their  prayers  and  had  gone  to  fetch  the  child  from  the 
Heavenly  Garden  and  brought  him  back  to  them. 

So  they  were  more  grateful  to  the  old  saint  than  ever, 


128  STORY-TELLING 

and  they  loved  and  honored  him  even  more  than  they  had 
done  before ;  which  was  all  the  reward  the  demon  got  for 
his  wicked  doings. 

That  is  one  of  the  many  stories  told  after  the  death  of 
Saint  Nicholas,  and  it  ever  helped  and  comforted  his  people 
to  think  that,  though  they  could  no  longer  see  him,  he 
would  love  and  protect  them  still. 

Young  maidens  in  need  of  help  remembered  the  story 
of  the  golden  bars  and  felt  sure  the  good  saint  would  not 
let  them  want.  Sailors  tossing  on  the  stormy  waves  thought 
of  that  storm  which  had  sunk  to  rest  at  the  prayer  of 
Saint  Nicholas.  Poor  prisoners  with  no  one  to  take  their 
part  were  comforted  by  the  thought  of  those  other  prisoners 
whom  he  had  saved.  And  little  children  perhaps  have 
remembered  him  most  of  all,  for  when  the  happy  Christmas 
time  draws  near,  who  is  so  much  in  their  thoughts  as  Saint 
Nicholas,  or  Santa  Glaus,  as  they  call  him?  Perhaps  they 
are  a  little  inclined  to  think  of  him  as  some  good  magician 
who  comes  to  fill  their  stockings  with  gifts,  but  they  should 
never  forget  that  he  was  the  kind  bishop,  who,  in  olden 
days,  loved  to  make  the  little  ones  happy.  There  are  some 
who  think  that  even  now  he  watches  over  and  protects 
little  children,  and  for  that  reason  he  is  called  their  patron 
saint.  — Amy  Steedman. 

THE  EMPEROR'S  VISION  * 

It  happened  at  the  time  when  Augustus  was  Emperor  in 
Rome  and  Herod  was  King  in  Jerusalem. 

*  Used  by  special  arrangements  with  Henry  Holt  and  Company, 
from  "Christ  Legends."  Copyright,  1900. 


THE  STOEY  IN  THE  SCHOOLEOOM        129 

It  was  then  that  a  very  great  and  holy  night  sank  down 
over  the  earth.  It  was  the  darkest  night  that  anyone  had 
ever  seen.  One  could  have  believed  that  the  whole  earth 
had  fallen  into  a  cellar- vault.  It  was  impossible  to  distin- 
guish water  from  land,  and  one  could  not  find  one's  way 
on  the  most  familiar  road.  And  it  couldn't  be  otherwise, 
for  not  a  ray  of  light  came  from  heaven.  All  the  stars 
stayed  at  home  in  their  own  houses,  and  the  fair  moon 
held  her  face  averted. 

The  silence  and  stillness  were  as  profound  as  the  dark- 
ness. The  rivers  stood  still  in  their  courses,  the  wind  did 
not  stir,  and  even  the  aspen  leaves  had  ceased  to  quiver. 
Had  anyone  walked  along  the  seashore,  he  would  have 
found  that  the  waves  no  longer  dashed  upon  the  sands ;  and 
had  one  wandered  in  the  desert,  the  sand  would  not  have 
crunched  under  one's  feet.  Everything  was  as  motionless 
as  if  turned  to  stone,  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  holy  night. 
The  grass  was  afraid  to  grow,  the  dew  could  not  fall,  and 
the  flowers  dared  not  exhale  their  perfume. 

On  this  night  the  wild  beasts  did  not  seek  their  prey,  the 
serpents  did  not  sting,  and  the  dogs  did  not  bark.  And 
what  was  even  more  glorious,  inanimate  things  would  have 
been  unwilling  to  disturb  the  night's  sanctity,  lending  them- 
selves to  an  evil  deed.  No  false  key  could  have  picked  a 
lock,  and  no  knife  could  possibly  have  drawn  a  drop  of 
blood. 

In  Rome,  during  this  very  night,  a  small  company  of 
people  came  from  the  Emperor's  palace  at  the  Palatine 


130  STOEY-TELLING 

and  took  the  path  across  the  Forum  which  led  to  the 
Capitol.  During  the  day  just  ended  the  Senators  had 
asked  the  Emperor  if  he  had  any  objections  to  their  erect- 
ing a  temple  to  him  on  Rome's  sacred  hill.  But  Augustus 
had  not  immediately  given  his  consent.  He  did  not  know 
whether  the  gods  would  be  pleased  if  he  should  own  a 
temple  next  to  theirs,  and  he  had  replied  that  first  he  wished 
to  ascertain  their  will  in  the  matter  by  offering  a  noc- 
turnal sacrifice  to  his  genius.  It  was  he  who,  accompanied 
by  a  few  trusted  friends,  was  on  his  way  to  perform  this 
sacrifice. 

Augustus  let  them  carry  him  in  his  litter,  for  he  was 
old,  and  it  was  an  effort  for  him  to  climb  the  long  stairs 
leading  to  the  Capitol.  He  himself  held  the  cage  with  the 
doves  for  the  sacrifice.  No  priests  or  soldiers  or  senators 
accompanied  him,  only  his  nearest  friends.  Torch-bearers 
walked  in  front  of  him  in  order  to  light  the  way  in  the 
night  darkness,  and  behind  him  followed  the  slaves,  who 
carried  the  tripod,  the  knives,  the  charcoal,  the  sacred  fire, 
and  all  the  other  things  needed  for  the  sacrifice. 

On  the  way  the  Emperor  chatted  gaily  with  his  faithful 
followers,  and  therefore  none  of  them  noticed  the  infinite 
silence  and  stillness  of  the  night.  Only  when  they  had 
reached  the  highest  point  of  the  Capitol  Hill  and  the  vacant 
spot  upon  which  they  contemplated  erecting  the  temple  did 
it  dawn  upon  them  that  something  unusual  was  taking 
place. 

It  could  not  be  a  night  like  all  others,  for  up  on  the 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM  131 

very  edge  of  the  cliff  they  saw  the  most  remarkable  being! 
At  first  they  thought  it  was  an  old  distorted  olive-trunk; 
later  they  imagined  that  an  ancient  stone  figure  from  the 
temple  of  Jupiter  had  wandered  out  on  the  cliff.  Finally 
it  was  apparent  to  them  that  it  could  be  only  the  old  sibyl. 

Anything  so  aged,  so  weather-beaten,  and  so  giant-like 
in  stature  they  had  never  seen.  This  old  woman  was  awe- 
inspiring!  If  the  Emperor  had  not  been  present,  they 
would  all  have  fled  to  their  homes. 

"It  is  she,"  they  whispered  to  each  other,  "  who  has 
lived  as  many  years  as  there  are  sand-grains  on  her  native 
shores.  Why  has  she  come  out  from  her  cave  just  to-night  ? 
What  does  she  foretell  for  the  Emperor  and  the  Empire  — 
she,  who  writes  her  prophecies  on  the  leaves  of  the  trees 
and  knows  that  the  wind  will  carry  the  words  of  the  oracle 
to  the  person  for  whom  they  are  intended?  " 

They  were  so  terrified  that  they  would  have  dropped  on 
their  knees  with  their  foreheads  pressed  against  the  earth 
had  the  sibyl  stirred.  But  she  sat  as  still  as  though  she 
were  lifeless.  Crouching  upon  the  outermost  edge  of  the 
cliff,  and  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  she  peered  out 
into  the  night.  She  sat  there  as  if  she  had  gone  up  on  the 
hill-  that  she  might  see  more  clearly  something  that  was 
happening  far  away.  She  could  see  things  on  a  night  like 
this! 

At  that  moment  the  Emperor  and  all  his  retinue  marked 
how  profound  the  darkness  was.  None  of  them  could  see 
a  hand's  breadth  in  front  of  him.  And  what  stillness! 


132  STOEY-TELLING 

"What  silence!  Not  even  the  Tiber's  hollow  murmur  could 
they  hear.  The  air  seemed  to  suffocate  them;  cold  sweat 
broke  out  on  their  foreheads ;  and  their  hands  were  numb 
and  powerless.  They  feared  that  some  dreadful  disaster 
was  impending. 

But  no  one  cared  to  show  that  he  was  afraid,  and  every- 
one told  the  Emperor  that  this  was  a  good  omen.  All 
nature  held  its  breath  to  greet  a  new  god. 

They  counseled  Augustus  to  hurry  with  the  sacrifice,  and 
said  that  the  old  sibyl  had  evidently  come  out  of  her  cave 
to  greet  his  genius. 

But  the  truth  was  that  the  old  sibyl  was  so  absorbed 
in  a  vision  that  she  did  not  even  know  that  Augustus  had 
come  up  to  the  Capitol.  She  was  transported  in  spirit  to  a 
far-distant  land,  where  she  imagined  that  she  was  wander- 
ing over  a  great  plain.  In  the  darkness  she  stubbed  her 
foot  continually  against  something,  which  she  believed  to 
be  grass-tufts.  She  stooped  down  and  felt  with  her  hand. 
No,  it  was  not  grass,  but  sheep.  She  was  walking  between 
great  sleeping  flocks  of  sheep. 

Then  she  noticed  the  shepherds'  fire.  It  burned  in  the 
middle  of  the  field,  and  she  groped  her  way  to  it.  The 
shepherds  lay  asleep  by  the  fire,  and  beside  them  were  the 
long,  spiked  staves  with  which  they  defended  their  flocks 
from  wild  beasts.  But  the  little  animals  with  the  glittering 
eyes  and  the  bushy  tails  that  stole  up  to  the  fire,  were  they 
not  jackals?  And  yet  the  shepherds  did  not  fling  their 
staves  at  them,  the  dogs  continued  to  sleep,  the  sheep  did 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM  133 

not  flee,  and  the  wild  animals  lay  down  to  rest  beside  the 
human  beings. 

This  the  sibyl  saw,  but  she  knew  nothing  of  what  was 
being  enacted  on  the  hill  back  of  her.  She  did  not  know 
that  there  they  were  raising  an  altar,  lighting  charcoal 
and  strewing  incense,  and  that  the  Emperor  took  one  of 
the  doves  from  the  cage  to  sacrifice  it.  But  his  hands  were 
so  benumbed  that  he  could  not  hold  the  bird.  With  one 
stroke  of  the  wing  it  freed  itself  and  disappeared  into  the 
night  darkness. 

"When  this  happened,  the  courtiers  glanced  suspiciously 
at  the  old  sibyl.  They  believed  it  was  she  who  caused  the 
misfortune. 

Could  they  know  that  all  the  while  the  sibyl  thought  her- 
self standing  beside  the  shepherds'  fire,  and  that  she  lis- 
tened to  a  faint  sound  which  came  trembling  through  the 
dead-still  night?  She  heard  it  long  before  she  marked 
that  it  did  not  come  from  the  earth,  but  from  the  sky.  At 
last  she  raised  her  head ;  then  she  saw  light,  shimmering 
forms  glide  forward  in  the  darkness.  They  were  little 
flocks  of  angels,  who,  singing  joyously  and  apparently 
searching,  flew  back  and  forth  above  the  wide  plain. 

While  the  sibyl  was  listening  to  the  angel  song,  the 
Emperor  was  making  preparation  for  a  new  sacrifice.  He 
washed  his  hands,  cleansed  the  altar,  and  took  up  the  other 
dove.  And,  although  he  exerted  his  full  strength  to  hold 
it  fast,  the  dove's  slippery  body  slid  from  his  hand,  and 
the  bird  swung  itself  up  into  the  impenetrable  night. 


134  STORY-TELLING 

The  Emperor  was  appalled !  He  fell  upon  his  knees  and 
prayed  to  his  genius.  He  implored  him  for  strength  to 
avert  the  disasters  which  this  night  seemed  to  foreshadow. 

Nor  did  the  sibyl  hear  any  of  this  either.  She  was  listen- 
ing with  her  whole  soul  to  the  angel  song,  which  grew 
louder  and  louder.  At  last  it  became  so  powerful  that  it 
awakened  the  shepherds.  They  raised  themselves  on  their 
elbows  and  saw  shining  hosts  of  silver-white  angels  move 
in  the  darkness  in  long,  swaying  lines,  like  migratory  birds. 
Some  held  lutes  and  cymbals  in  their  hands;  others  held 
zithers  and  harps,  and  their  song  rang  out  as  merry  as 
child  laughter,  and  as  care-free  as  the  lark's  trill.  When 
the  shepherds  heard  this  they  rose  up  to  go  to  the  moun- 
tain city,  where  they  lived,  to  tell  of  the  miracle. 

They  groped  their  way  forward  on  a  narrow,  winding 
path,  and  the  sibyl  followed  them.  Suddenly  it  grew  light 
up  there  on  the  mountain ;  a  big,  clear  star  kindled  right 
over  it,  and  the  city  on  the  mountain  summit  glittered  like 
silver  in  the  starlight.  All  the  fluttering  angel  throngs 
hastened  thither,  shouting  for  joy,  and  the  shepherds  hur- 
ried so  that  they  almost  ran.  When  they  reached  the  city, 
they  found  that  the  angels  had  assembled  over  a  low  stable 
near  the  city  gate.  It  was  a  wretched  structure,  with  a 
roof  of  straw  and  the  naked  cliff  for  a  back  wall.  Over  it 
hung  the  Star,  and  hither  flocked  more  and  more  angels. 
Some  seated  themselves  on  the  straw  roof  or  alighted  upon 
the  steep  mountain-wall  back  of  the  house;  others,  again, 
held  themselves  in  the  air  on  outspread  wings,  and  hovered 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLEOOM       135 

over  it.  High,  high  up,  the  air  was  illuminated  by  the 
shining  wings. 

The  instant  the  Star  kindled  over  the  mountain  city  all 
Nature  awoke,  and  the  men  who  stood  upon  Capitol  Hill 
could  not  help  seeing  it.  They  felt  refreshed  by  the  caress- 
ing winds  which  traveled  through  space.  Delicious  per- 
fumes streamed  up  about  them;  trees  swayed;  the  Tiber 
began  to  murmur;  the  stars  twinkled,  and  suddenly  the 
moon  stood  out  in  the  sky  and  lit  up  the  world.  And  out  of 
the  clouds  the  two  doves  came  circling  down  and  lighted 
upon  the  Emperor's  shoulders. 

When  this  miracle  happened,  Augustus  rose,  proud  and 
happy,  but  his  friends  and  his  slaves  fell  on  their  knees. 

"  Hail,  Caesar!  "  they  cried.  "  Thy  genius  hath  an- 
swered thee.  Thou  art  the  god  who  shall  be  worshiped  on 
Capitol  Hill!" 

And  this  cry  of  homage,  which  the  men  in  their  transport 
gave  as  a  tribute  to  the  Emperor,  was  so  loud  that  the  old 
sibyl  heard  it.  It  waked  her  from  her  visions.  She  rose 
from  her  place  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff  and  came  down 
among  the  people.  It  was  as  if  a  dark  cloud  had  risen 
from  the  abyss  and  rushed  down  the  mountain  height.  She 
was  terrifying  in  her  extreme  age !  Coarse  hair  hung  in 
matted  tangles  around  her  head,  her  joints  were  enlarged, 
and  the  dark  skin,  hard  as  the  bark  of  a  tree,  covered  her 
body  with  furrow  upon  furrow. 

Potent  and  awe-inspiring,  she  advanced  toward  the 
Emperor.  With  one  hand  she  clutched  his  wrist,  with  the 
other  she  pointed  toward  the  distant  East. 


]36  STOEY-TELLING 

' '  Look !  ' '  she  commanded,  and  the  Emperor  raised  his 
eyes  and  saw.  The  vaulted  heavens  opened  before  his  eyes, 
and  his  glance  traveled  to  the  distant  Orient.  He  saw  a 
lowly  stable  behind  a  steep  rock  wall,  and  in  the  open  door- 
way a  few  shepherds  kneeling.  Within  the  stable  he  saw  a 
young  mother  on  her  knees  before  a  little  child,  who  lay 
upon  a  bundle  of  straw  on  the  floor. 

And  the  sibyl's  big,  knotty  fingers  pointed  toward  the 
poor  babe.  "  Hail,  Caesar!  "  cried  the  sibyl,  in  a  burst 
of  scornful  laughter.  "  There  is  the  god  who  shall  be 
worshiped  on  Capitol  Hill !  ' ' 

Then  Augustus  shrank  back  from  her,  as  from  a  maniac. 
But  upon  the  sibyl  fell  the  mighty  spirit  of  prophecy.  Her 
dim  eyes  began  to  burn,  her  hands  were  stretched  toward 
heaven,  her  voice  was  so  changed  that  it  seemed  not  to  be  her 
own,  but  rang  out  with  such  resonance  and  power  that  it 
could  have  been  heard  over  the  whole  world.  And  she 
uttered  words  which  she  appeared  to  be  reading  among  the 
stars. 

"  Upon  Capitol  Hill  shall  the  redeemer  of  the  world  be 
worshiped  —  Christ  — •  but  not  frail  mortals. ' ' 

When  she  had  said  this  she  strode  past  the  terror-stricken 
men,  walked  slowly  down  the  mountain,  and  disappeared. 

But,  on  the  following  day,  Augustus  strictly  forbade  the 
people  to  raise  any  temple  to  him  on  Capitol  Hill.  In  place 
of  it  he  built  a  sanctuary  to  the  new-born  God-Child,  and 
called  it  Heaven's  Altar  —  Ara  Coeli. 

— Selma  Lagerlof. 


137 


(A  Christmas  Story) 

Blind  Bartimaeus  was  not  his  real  name  —  of  course  not. 
In  the  first  place,  he  had  not  always  been  blind.  Until  the 
night  he  rushed  into  neighbor  Tyne's  burning  house  and 
rescued  a  child  from  death,  his  eyes  had  been  bright,  clear, 
and  far-seeing.  When,  after  weeks  of  agony,  he  once  more 
came  out  among  his  neighbors,  he  was  blind  indeed,  but 
not  yet  Bartimaeus.  That  came  later,  and  this  is  the  man- 
ner of  its  coming. 

One  Sunday  morning  Father  Anthony  told  his  people 
the  story  of  Blind  Bartimaeus  in  words  so  simple  and 
withal  so  eloquent  that  every  heart  was  touched.  To  the 
blind  man  Father  Anthony 's  words  brought  a  special  mes- 
sage of  hope  and  cheer.  As  he  left  the  church,  after  the 
service,  his  mind  still  full  of  the  beautiful  old  story,  he 
stumbled  against  some  of  the  people  lingering  about  the 
door.  "Whereupon,  a  heedless  boy  who  had  seen  him,  called 
to  his  fellows,  "  Step  out  of  the  way.  Here  comes  Blind 
Bartimaeus!  "  All  within  hearing  turned  upon  the  boy 
with  words  of  reproof,  reproach  or  anger  —  all  but  the 
blind  man.  "  Nay,  scold  not  the  lad,"  he  said.  "  It  is  a 
good  name.  Was  not  Blind  Bartimaeus  healed  by  the 
Christ?  Who  knows  but  the  boy's  words  carry  a  good 
omen?  Perhaps  I,  too,  shall  have  my  blindness  lightened 
by  the  Master."  So  ever  after  the  people  of  the  village 

*  Reprinted  from  the  Storytellers'  Magazine,  December,  1913. 


1 38  STORY-TELLING 

called  him  "  Blind  Bartimaeus,"  not  in  mocking,  but  in 
reverence,  hoping  in  their  simple  hearts  that  the  Master 
would  indeed  open  the  blind  eyes. 

All  this  happened  when  he  was  a  young  man.  The  years 
passed  until  at  the  time  of  this  story  he  had  nearly  reached 
the  allotted  three  score  years  and  ten.  Still  he  was  Blind 
Bartimaeus  and  still  he  looked  for  the  coming  of  the  Great 
Physician. 

Early  one  morning  a  strange,  wild  figure  entered  the  lit- 
tle village.  Although  it  was  winter,  and  the  ground  was 
white  with  snow,  his  feet  were  but  partly  covered  with  a 
pair  of  old  grass  sandals.  His  clothes,  if  so  they  might 
be  called,  were  simply  a  number  of  undressed  skins  of 
wild  animals.  His  head  was  bare,  and  his  long,  matted, 
white  hair  and  beard  streamed  out  in  the  wind.  Holding 
his  right  hand  aloft,  he  walked  swiftly  towards  the  little 
church,  shouting  as  he  went,  "  A  message!  A  message!  " 

"It  is  the  holy  man,  the  hermit  Job,"  whispered  the 
people  with  wondering  faces.  "  What  message  can  he 
bear?  " 

Dropping  their  work  they  hastened  to  the  church,  and 
by  the  time  the  hermit  had  mounted  the  stone  steps  and 
stood  ready  to  speak,  everyone  in  the  village  —  even  Blind 
Bartimaeus  —  stood  on  the  ground  below  ready  to  hear 
the  message.  Father  Anthony,  the  good  old  priest,  alone 
stood  on  the  steps  with  the  hermit,  but  back  and  nearer 
the  church  door.  Hermit  Job  raised  his  hand,  and  a  dead 
silence  fell  upon  the  waiting  people  as  he  began  to  speak. 
"  Last  night  while  all  the  earth  slept,  I  kept  vigil  in  yon- 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM       139 

der  forest.  For  seven  days  and  seven  nights  I  had  kept  the 
vigil,  fasting  and  praying  without  ceasing  that  Christ  would 
once  more  visit  the  world  and  judge  his  peopKi.  Too  weak 
to  stand,  I  lay  with  my  face  to  the  ground  and  moaned, 
'  How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long  must  thy  people  wait?  ' 
Then  suddenly  there  shone  around  me  a  most  wondrous, 
dazzling  light  and  I  looked  up  and  beheld  an  angel,  clothed 
in  white,  standing  before  me.  And  as  I  gazed,  speechless 
with  awe,  the  vision  spake  and  said,  '  Job,  thy  prayer  hath 
been  heard,  and  thy  desire  shall  be  granted.  At  Christmas- 
tide  the  Master  will  again  visit  the  world  and  judge  His 
children.  Arise,  eat  and  drink,  and  go  into  the  village 
beyond  and  make  known  His  coming  to  the  people,  that 
they  may  have  all  things  ready  and  meet  to  receive  Him. 
Be  ye  His  messenger.'  Then  faded  the  vision  and  I  was 
left  alone." 

For  a  full  minute  after  the  hermit  had  ended,  the  people 
stood  breathless,  then  they  began  to  question  him  eagerly. 

4 '  Where  shall  we  most  fittingly  receive  Him  ?  "  ' '  How 
shall  we  prepare  for  His  coming?  "  "  When  will  —  " 

"  Ask  me  not,"  interrupted  the  hermit,  "  I  cannot  say. 
I  delivered  unto  you  the  message  as  I  received  it.  More 
I  cannot  do. ' '  Descending  the  steps  he  swept  his  long  arm 
from  side  to  side,  clearing  a  way  for  himself.  Passing 
through  the  lane  thus  formed  he  made  his  way  back  to 
the  forest. 

The  people  stood  in  silence  watching  the  tall  figure  till 
it  faded  from  their  sight ;  then  they  returned  to  the  making 
of  their  plans  for  the  great  day. 


140  STORY-TELLING 

"  The  wise  men  of  yore  prepared  gifts  for  the  Christ," 
said  one  old  man.  "  Should  we  not  do  likewise?  " 

"  That  is  a  good  thought,"  answered  another.  "  Let  us 
prepare  the  best  gift  we  can." 

"  Where  shall  we  bring  our  gifts?  "  asked  one. 

"  Here  to  the  church.  Is  it  not  His  house?  "  replied  the 
oldest  man  in  the  village.  "  What  place  could  be  more 
fitting?  " 

' '  Let  each  bring  his  gift  here  and  leave  it  secretly, ' '  said 
the  miser.  "  Then  none  need  feel  cast  down  if  his  gift 
be  not  as  fine  as  others,  for  no  one  will  know  what  another 
brings."  This  he  said,  not  because  he  had  pity  on  the 
poor  man  who  could  bring  but  a  small  gift,  but  because 
he  sought  thus  to  hide  the  meanness  of  the  gift  he  thought 
to  offer. 

"  Not  so,  not  so,  I  say.  Let  each  man  bear  his  own 
gift.  Then  shall  the  Master  see  who  has  used  his  talent 
most  wisely."  Thus  spake  the  richest  man  in  the  village, 
for  he  wanted  his  good  works  to  be  seen  and  praised  of 
all  men. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  after  much  talking  it  was  decided 
that  every  man  should  bring  his  gift  to  the  church  on 
Christmas  morning  and  there  await  the  coming  of  the 
Master. 

While  the  people  talked  and  planned,  good  Father 
Anthony  looked  down  upon  them  with  eyes  full  of  kind- 
ness and  love,  but  he  refused  to  take  any  part  in  the  dis- 
cussion. Before  leaving  the  church  the  people  knelt  for 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM       141 

his  blessing,  and  as  he  dismissed  them,  the  good  priest 
said,  "  Remember,  my  children,  that  it  is  written,  '  Only 
the  pure  in  heart  shall  see  God.'  Ye  have  more  than  gifts 
to  prepare. ' '  But  the  people  were  so  eager  to  get  to  their 
homes  and  think  of  their  gifts  that  they  hardly  heeded 
the  words  of  Father  Anthony. 

For  days  there  was  nothing  talked  of  but  the  great  and 
wonderful  news  the  hermit  had  brought  and  the  gifts  each 
was  preparing.  The  sad  truth  must  be  told  —  this  season, 
that  should  have  been  full  of  joy  and  gladness,  was  a  time 
of  bitterness  and  striving,  each  man  eager  to  outdo  his 
neighbor  and  prepare  a  finer  gift.  Only  one  man  went  on 
in  his  usual  way.  This  was  Blind  Bartimaeus.  When 
asked  what  gift  he  would  bring,  he  always  answered, ' '  The 
best  that  I  have ;  perchance  a  loaf  or  two  of  barley  bread 
and  a  little  honey." 

Then  his  neighbors  forgot  Blind  Bartimaeus'  affliction 
and  his  brave,  cheerful  life  and  mocked  him,  saying, 

"  Great  gifts,  these,  to  bring  to  the  Master!  " 

"  Aye,"  answered  the  blind  man,  "  they  are  small  and 
most  unworthy,  but  He  scorned  not  the  loaves  and  fishes 
in  the  desert,  but  used  them  to  His  honor  and  glory;  so 
perhaps  He  may  even  accept  my  humble  offering,  knowing 
that  it  is  my  best  and  that  I  give  it  freely  from  my  heart. ' ' 

On  Christmas  Eve,  just  as  the  dusk  was  closing  down, 
a  beggar  boy  entered  the  village.  His  clothes  were  worn 
and  ragged,  and  his  little  feet  were  bare.  He  shivered  in 


142  STORY-TELLING 

the  cold  blast.  He  was  hungry,  wayworn  and  weary.  The 
first  house  on  the  street  was  the  rich  man's.  Here  the 
boy  stopped  and  asked  for  food  and  shelter. 

"  Come  to-morrow,"  answered  the  rich  man,  not  un- 
kindly, "  to-night  I  am  too  busy  getting  ready  my  Christ- 
mas gifts  to  attend  to  anything  else. ' ' 

The  next  house  was  the  miser's.  Here  the  boy  was 
ordered  off  with  threats  and  angry  words,  for  the  miser 
was  so  torn  between  the  desire  to  save  his  possessions  and 
the  desire  to  out-do  the  rich  man  in  his  gift  that  he  was 
cross  and  fretful. 

So  from  house  to  house  wandered  the  child,  but  no  one 
had  time  to  listen  to  his  story  or  relieve  his  distress.  To 
be  sure,  after  sending  the  boy  away,  Neighbor  Tyne  's  heart 
pricked  him,  and  he  went  again  to  his  door  to  call  the  beg- 
gar boy  back,  but  he  saw  him  enter  the  little  cottage  of 
Blind  Bartimaeus,  and  knew  that  all  was  well  with  the 
child. 

Christmas  morning  broke  bright  and  clear,  and  at  the 
ringing  of  the  bell  the  people  gathered  in  the  church, 
bringing  their  gifts  with  them.  Good  Father  Anthony 
looked  at  them  with  a  shadow  on  his  face,  for  he  saw 
plainly  that  the  gifts  were  not  brought  for  love  of  the 
Master,  but  for  the  glory  of  men.  Blind  Bartimaeus  was 
the  last  man  to  enter  the  church,  and  he  came  with  empty 
hands. 

"  What  means  this?  "  cried  his  neighbors.  "  Where  is 
your  gift  ?  What  will  you  do  when  the  Master  comes  1  ' ' 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM  143 

' '  The  Master  has  come  and  I  —  I,  Blind  Bartimaeus. 
have  seen  him  with  these  eyes." 

"  Has  come?  You  have  seen  him?  What  mean  ye?  " 
cried  the  people,  closing  around  the  blind  man. 

Father  Anthony  stepped  to  the  side  of  Blind  Bartimaeus, 
and,  taking  his  hand,  said,  "  Stand  back,  my  children,  and 
let  the  man  tell  his  story. ' ' 

"  I  had  prepared  my  gift  —  two  barley  loaves  and  a 
little  honey,"  began  the  blind  man,  "  and  had  it  ready  to 
bring  here  to-day.  Last  night  as  I  sat  at  my  fireside 
dreaming  of  the  great  joy  to  come,  I  heard  a  timid  knock 
at  my  door.  I  opened  it  and  there  stood  a  poor  child 
almost  perishing  for  want  of  food  and  warmth.  For  a 
moment  I  hardened  my  heart  against  his  plea  for  help.  I 
had  nothing  in  the  house  but  the  Master's  gift  —  and,  O 
my  friends,  if  ye  only  knew  what  that  meant  to  me !  For 
fifty  years  I  had  waited  for  the  coming  of  the  Master.  For 
weeks  I  had  been  telling  myself  that  if  my  gift  found 
favor  in  His  sight,  He  might,  indeed,  open  my  blind  eyes. 
How  could  I  part  with  my  gift — perhaps  my  only  chance 
of  healing  —  to  an  unknown  beggar  boy !  But  when  I 
placed  my  hand  on  the  little  ragged  jacket  and  felt  the 
child  shiver,  I  could  withhold  the  gift  no  longer.  I  bade  the 
lad  throw  aside  his  wet  clothing  and  wrapped  him  in  my 
cloak  and  fed  him.  After  his  meal,  as  he  sat  on  my  knee 
before  the  fire  and  I  felt  the  soft  little  body  now  com- 
forted and  warm,  within  my  arms,  a  great  joy  and  peace 
crept  into  my  heart,  for,  friends,  I  have  been  lonely  ever, 
and  I  said  softly,  '  Wilt  stay  with  me  always  and  be  eyes 


144  STORY-TELLING 

to  old  Blind  Bartimaeus,  my  lad  ?  '  '  Aye, '  he  whispered, 
and  lifted  his  hand  and  touched  my  eyelids  with  his  little 
fingers  and,  as  he  did  so,  methought  I  heard  a  voice  saying, 
'  Look  up,  Blind  Bartimaeus, '  and  I  looked  up  and  behold, 
I  saw,  and  my  poor  little  room  was  filled  with  a  wondrous 
light,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  light  stood  a  vision  all  glor- 
ious, and  I  knew  it  was  the  Master,  for  none  other  could 
have  such  loving,  pitying  eyes!  And  the  Vision  Glorious 
pointed  to  the  child  in  my  arms  and  said,  '  Inasmuch  as  ye 
have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these,  ye  have  done  it 
unto  me ; '  and  lo,  while  the  voice  still  sounded  in  mine  ears, 
the  vision  vanished,  but  I  heard  the  most  wonderful  music 
as  of  a  choir  invisible  singing : 

'  Blessed  are  they,  whose  thoughts  in  deeds  find  wing, 
Whose  hands  the  gifts  of  love  and  meroy  bring, 
And  in  his  lowliest  children  see  their  king. 

'  Blessed  are  they  who  hear  the  Master  plead 

In  every  cry  of  sorrow  or  of  need, 

Lo,  to  their  hearts  the  Lord  has  come  indeed. ' 

"  Then  all  was  dark  and  still  again.  But  in  my  heart 
was  music  and  joy,  for  in  my  arms  I  held  a  little  child, 
whose  arms  clasped  my  neck,  and  I  —  even  I  —  Blind  Bar- 
timaeus, had  seen  the  Lord." 

The  people  had  listened  in  breathless  silence  while  the 
story  was  being  told,  and  then  with  a  sob,  the  rich  man 
spoke:  "  Here,  neighbor,  take  my  gift.  It  is  for  the  boy. 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM  145 

Verily,  ye  only  have  shown  the  true  spirit  of  Christ.  Take 
the  gift  in  his  name. ' ' 

Others  followed  and  left  their  gifts  at  the  feet  of  Bar- 
timaeus  and  Father  Anthony  to  be  used  for  the  Master's 
poor.  Only  the  miser  hugged  his  gift  closer  and  said, 
"  Nonsense!  The  blind  man  deceives  ye.  Think  ye  the 
Master  would  visit  his  poor  dwelling?  I  tell  ye  he  but 
dreamed  the  story." 

' '  Nay,  not  so, ' '  said  Father  Anthony.  ' '  Twas  no  dream. 
Well,  ye  all  know  that  the  promise  is  that  the  pure  in 
heart  shall  see  God.  Blind  Bartirnaeus  hath  looked  upon 
the  Vision  Glorious  —  Blind  Bartimaeus  hath  seen  the 
Christ."  — Catherine  Twiner  Bryce. 

THE  WORKER  IN  SANDAL-WOOD  * 

It  was  the  only  wood  of  that  kind  which  had  ever  been 
seen  in  Terminaison.  Pierre  L  'Oreillard  brought  it  into  the 
workshop  one  morning,  a  small,  heavy  bundle  wrapped  in 
sacking,  and  then'  in  burlap,  and  then  in  fine  soft  cloths. 
He  laid  it  on  a  pile  of  shavings,  and  unwrapped  it  care- 
fully ;  and  a  dim  sweetness  filled  the  dark  shed  and  hung 
heavily  in  the  thin  winter  sunbeams. 

Pierre  L  'Oreillard  rubbed  the  wood  respectfully  with  his 
knobby  fingers.  "It  is  sandal-wood,"  he  explained  to 
Hyacinthe,  pride  of  knowledge  making  him  expansive,  "  a 
most  precious  wood  that  grows  in  warm  countries,  thou 

*  Reprinted  from  The  Atlantic  Monthly,  December,  1909, 
through  the  courtesy  of  Miss  Marjorie  L.  C.  Pickthall  and  The 
Atlantic  Monthly  Company.  Copyrighted. 


146  STORY-TELLING 

great  goblin.  Smell  it,  imbecile.  It  is  sweeter  than  cedar. 
It  is  to  make  a  cabinet  for  the  old  Madame  at  the  big  house. 
Thy  great  hands  shall  smooth  the  wood,  nigaud,  and  I,  I, 
Pierre  the  cabinet-maker,  shall  render  it  beautiful."  Then 
he  went  out,  locking  the  door  behind  him. 

When  he  was  gone  Hyacinthe  laid  down  his  plane,  blew 
his  stiff  fingers,  and  shambled  slowly  over  to  the  wood. 
He  was  a  great  clumsy  boy  of  fourteen,  dark-faced,  very 
slow  of  speech,  dull-eyed,  and  uncared  for.  He  was  clumsy 
because  it  is  impossible  to  move  gracefully  when  you  are 
growing  very  big  and  fast  on  quite  insufficient  food;  he 
was  dull-eyed  because  all  eyes  met  his  unlovingly ;  uncared 
for,  because  none  knew  the  beauty  of  his  soul.  But  his 
heavy  young  hands  could  carve  simple  things  like  flowers 
and  birds  and  beasts  to  perfection. 

Hyacinthe  knew  that  the  making  of  the  cabinet  would 
fall  to  him,  as  most  of  the  other  work  did.  He  also  touched 
the  strange,  sweet  wood,  and  at  last  laid  his  cheek  against 
it,  while  the  fragrance  caught  his  breath.  "  How  it  is 
beautiful!  "  said  Hyacinthe,  and  for  a  moment  his  eyes 
glowed  and  he  was  happy.  Then  the  light  passed,  and  with 
bent  head  he  shuffled  back  to  his  bench  through  a  foam  of 
white  shavings  curling  almost  to  his  knees. 

"  Madame  perhaps  will  want  the  cabinet  next  week,  for 
that  is  Christmas,"  said  Hyacinthe,  and  fell  to  work  harder 
than  ever,  though  it  was  so  cold  in  the  shed  that  his  breath 
hung  like  a  little  silver  cloud  and  the  steel  stung  his 
hands. 

Brandy  was   good    at   the    Cinq   Chateaux    and    Pierre 


THE  STOEY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM  14J 

L'Oreillard  gave  Hyacinthe  plenty  of  directions,  but  no 
further  help  with  his  cabinet. 

"  That  is  to  be  finished  for  Madame  on  the  festival, 
gros  escargot,"  said  he,  cuffing  Hyacinthe 's  ears  furiously; 
"  finished,  and  with  a  prettiness  about  the  corners,  hear- 
est  thou,  ourson?  I  suffer  from  a  delicacy  of  the  consti- 
tution and  a  little  feebleness  in  the  legs  on  these  days,  so 
that  I  cannot  handle  the  tools.  I  must  leave  this  work  to 
thee,  gasheur.  See  it  is  done  properly.  And  stand  up  and 
touch  a  hand  to  thy  cap  when  I  address  thee,  great  slow- 
worm." 

' '  Yes,  monsieur, ' '  said  Hyacinthe  wearily. 

It  is  hard,  when  you  do  all  the  work,  to  be  cuffed  into  the 
bargain ;  and  fourteen  is  not  very  old.  He  went  to  work 
on  the  cabinet  with  slow,  exquisite  skill ;  but  on  the  eve  of 
Xoe'l  he  was  still  at  work,  and  the  cabinet  unfinished.  It 
meant  a  thrashing  from  Pierre  if  the  morrow  came  and 
found  it  still  unfinished,  and  Pierre 's  thrashings  were  cruel. 
But  it  was  growing  into  a  thing  of  perfection  under  his 
slow  hands,  and  Hyacinthe  would  not  hurry  over  it. 

"  Then  work  on  it  all  night,  and  show  it  to  me  all  com- 
pleted in  the  morning,  or  thy  bones  shall  mourn  thine  idle- 
ness," said  Pierre  with  a  flicker  of  his  little  eyes.  And  he 
shut  Hyacinthe  into  the  workshop  with  a  smoky  lamp,  his 
tools,  and  the  sandal-wood  cabinet. 

It  was  nothing  unusual.  The  boy  had  often  been  left 
before  to  finish  a  piece  of  work  overnight  while  Pierre  went 
off  to  his  brandies.  But  this  was  Christinas  Eve,  and  he 
was  very  tired.  The  cold  crept  into  the  shed,  until  even 


148  STORY-TELLING 

the  scent  of  the  sandal-wood  could  not  make  him  dream 
himself  warm,  and  the  roof  cracked  sullenly  in  the  frost. 
There  came  upon  Hyacinthe  one  of  those  awful,  hopeless 
despairs  that  children  know.  It  seemed  to  be  a  living  pres- 
ence that  caught  up  his  soul  and  crushed  it  in  black  hands. 
' '  In  all  the  world,  nothing !  ' '  said  he,  staring  at  the  dull 
flame ;  "  no  place,  no  heart,  no  love !  O  kind  God,  is  there 
a  place,  a  love  for  me  in  another  world?  " 

Hyacinthe  even  looked  at  the  chisel  in  his  hand,  and 
thought  that  by  a  touch  of  that  he  might  lose  it  all,  all, 
and  be  at  peace,  somewhere  not  far  from  God ;  only  it  was 
forbidden.  Then  came  the  tears,  and  great  sobs  that 
sickened  and  deafened  him,  so  that  he  scarcely  heard  the 
gentle  rattling  of  the  latch. 

"  I  see  you  are  working  late,  comrade.  May  I  come  in  ?  " 
said  a  strange  voice. 

Hyacinthe  brushed  his  ragged  sleeve  across  his  eyes,  and 
opened  the  door  wider  with  a  little  nod  to  the  other  to 
enter.  As  the  stranger  turned  within  the  door,  smiling  at 
Hyacinthe  and  shaking  some  snow  from  his  fur  cap,  he  did 
not  seem  more  than  sixteen  or  so. 

"  It  is  very  cold  outside,"  he  said;  "  there  is  a  big  oak 
tree  on  the  edge  of  the  fields  that  has  split  in  the  frost  and 
frightened  all  the  little  squirrels  asleep  there.  Next  year 
it  will  make  an  even  better  home  for  them.  And  see  what  I 
found  close  by!  "  He  opened  his  fingers,  and  showed  Hya- 
cinthe a  little  sparrow  lying  unruffled  in  his  palm. 

"  Pauvrette!  "  said  the  dull  Hyacinthe.  "  Pauvrette! 
Is  it  then  dead  ?  "  He  touched  it  with  a  gentle  forefinger. 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM        149 

"  No,"  answered  the  strange  boy,  "  it  is  not  dead.  We 
will  put  it  here  among  the  shavings,  not  far  from  the  lamp, 
and  it  will  be  well  by  morning." 

He  smiled  at  Hyacinthe  again,  and  the  shambling  lad  felt 
dimly  as  if  the  scent  of  the  sandal-wood  had  deepened, 
and  the  lamp  burned  clearer.  But  the  stranger's  eyes 
were  only  quiet,  quiet. 

"  Have  you  come  far?  "  asked  Hyacinthe.  "It  is  a 
bad  season  for  traveling,  and  the  wolves  are  out  in  the 
woods  " 

"  A  long  way,"  said  the  other;  "  a  long,  long  way.  I 
heard  a  child  cry-—  " 

"  There  is  no  child  here,"  answered  Hyacinthe,  shaking 
his  head.  "  But  if  you  have  come  far  you  must  be  cold  and 
hungry,  and  I  have  no  food  nor  fire.  At  the  Cinq  Chateaux 
you  will  find  both." 

The  stranger  looked  at  him  again  with  those  quiet  eyes, 
and  Hyacinthe  fancied  his  face  was  familiar.  ' '  I  will  stay 
here,"  he  said.  "  You  are  very  late  at  work  and  you  are 
unhappy." 

' '  Why,  as  to  that, ' '  answered  Hyacinthe,  rubbing  again 
at  his  cheeks  and  ashamed  of  his  tears, ' '  most  of  us  are  sad 
at  one  time  or  another,  the  good  God  knows.  Stay  here 
and  welcome  if  it  pleases  you ;  and  you  may  take  a  share 
of  my  bed,  though  it  is  no  more  than  a  pile  of  balsam 
boughs  and  an  old  blanket  in  the  loft.  But  I  must  work 
at  this  cabinet,  for  the  drawer  must  be  finished  and  the 
handles  put  on  and  these  corners  carved,  all  by  the  holy 
morning;  or  my  wages  will  be  paid  with  a  stick." 


150  STORY-TELLING 

'  You  have  a  hard  master,"  put  in  the  other  boy,  "  if 
he  would  pay  you  with  blows  upon  the  feast  of  Noel. ' ' 

"  He  is  hard  enough,"  said  Hyacinthe;  "  but  once  he 
gave  me  a  dinner  of  sausages  and  white  wine,  and  once, 
in  the  summer,  melons.  If  my  eyes  will  stay  open,  I  will 
finish  this  by  morning,  but  indeed  I  am  sleepy.  Stay  with 
me  an  hour  or  so,  comrade,  and  talk  to  me  of  your  wander- 
ings, so  that  the  time  may  pass  more  quickly." 

"  I  will  tell  you  of  the  country  where  I  was  a  child," 
answered  the  stranger. 

And  while  Hyacinthe  worked,  he  told  of  sunshine  and 
dust ;  of  the  shadows  of  vine-leaves  on  the  flat  white  walls  of 
a  house ;  of  rosy  doves  on  the  fiat  roof ;  of  the  flowers  that 
come  out  in  the  spring,  crimson  and  blue,  and  the  white 
cyclamen,  the  myrtle  and  almond;  until  Hyacinthe 's  slow 
fingers  ceased  working,  and  his  sleepy  eyes  blinked  won- 
deringly. 

"  See  what  you  have  done,  comrade,"  he  said  at  last; 
"  you  have  told  of  such  pretty  things  that  I  have  done 
no  work  for  an  hour.  And  now  the  cabinet  will  never  be 
finished,  and  I  shall  be  beaten. ' ' 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  smiled  the  other;  "  I  also  was  bred 
a  carpenter." 

At  first  Hyacinthe  would  not,  fearing  to  trust  the  sweet 
wood  out  of  his  own  hands.  But  at  length  he  allowed 
the  stranger  to  fit  in  one  of  the  little  drawers.  And  so 
deftly  was  the  work  done  that  Hyacinthe  pounded  his  fists 
on  the  bench  in  admiration.  "  You  have  a  pretty  knack," 
he  cried ;  "  it  seemed  as  if  you  did  but  hold  the  drawer  in 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM  151 

your  hands  a  moment,  and  hey!  ho!  it  jumped  into  its 
place!  " 

"  Let  me  fit  in  the  other  little  drawers,  while  you  go 
and  rest  a  while,"  said  the  wanderer.  So  Hyacinthe  curled 
up  among  the  shavings,  and  the  stranger  fell  to  work  upon 
the  little  cabinet  of  sandal-wood. 

Hyacinthe  lay  among  the  shavings  in  the  sweetness  of 
the  sandal-wood,  and  was  very  tired.  He  thought  of  the 
country  where  the  stranger  had  been  a  boy.  All  the  time 
through  these  pictures,  as  through  a  painted  veil,  he  was 
aware  of  that  other  boy  with  the  quiet  eyes,  at  work  upon 
the  cabinet,  smoothing,  fitting,  polishing.  "  He  does  better 
work  than  I,"  thought  Hyacinthe;  but  he  was  not  jealous. 
And  again  he  thought,  "  It  is  growing  towards  morning. 
In  a  little  while  I  will  get  up  and  help  him. ' '  But  he  did 
not,  for  the  dream  of  warmth  and  the  smell  of  the  sandal- 
wood  held  him  in  a  sweet  drowse.  Also  he  said  that  he 
thought  the  stranger  was  singing  as  he  worked,  for  there 
seemed  to  be  a  sense  of  some  music  in  the  shed,  though  he 
could  not  tell  whether  it  came  from  the  other  boy's  lips, 
or  from  the  shabby  old  tools  as  he  used  them,  or  from 
the  stars.  ' '  The  stars  are  much  paler, ' '  thought  Hyacinthe, 
"  and  soon  it  will  be  morning,  and  the  corners  are  not 
carved  yet.  I  must  get  up  and  help  this  kind  one  in  a 
little  moment.  Only  I  am  so  tired,  and  the  music  and  the 
sweetness  seem  to  wrap  me  and  fold  me  close,  so  that  I 
may  not  move. ' ' 

He  lay  without  moving,  and  behind  the  forest  there  shone 
a  pale  glow  of  some  indescribable  color  that  was  neither 


152  STOKY-TELLING 

green  nor  blue,  while  in  Terminaison  the  church  bells  began 
to  ring.  "  Day  will  soon  be  here,"  thought  Hyacinthe, 
immovable  in  that  deep  dream  of  his,  ' '  and  with  day  will 
come  Monsieur  L'Oreillard  and  his  stick.  I  must  get  up 
and  help,  for  even  yet  the  corners  are  not  carved. ' ' 

But  he  did  not  get  up.  Instead,  he  saw  the  stranger  look 
at  him  again,  smiling  as  if  he  loved  him,  and  lay  his  brown 
finger  lightly  upon  the  four  empty  corners  of  the  cabinet. 
And  Hyacinthe  saw  the  little  squares  of  reddish  wood  ripple 
and  heave  and  break,  as  little  clouds  when  the  wind  goes 
through  the  sky.  And  out  of  them  thrust  forth  the  little 
birds,  and  after  them  the  lilies,  for  a  moment  living,  but 
even  while  Hyacinthe  looked  growing  hard  and  reddish- 
brown  and  setting  back  into  the  sweet  wood.  Then  the 
stranger  smiled  again,  and  laid  all  the  tools  neatly  in  order, 
and,  opening  the  door  quietly,  went  away  into  the  woods. 

Hyacinthe  lay  still  among  the  shavings  for  a  long  time, 
and  then  he  crept  slowly  to  the  door.  The  sun,  not  yet 
risen,  sent  his  first  beams  upon  the  delicate  mist  of  frost 
afloat  beneath  the  trees,  and  so  all  the  world  was  aflame 
with  splendid  gold.  Far  away  down  the  road  a  dim  figure 
seemed  to  move  amid  the  glory,  but  the  glow  and  splendor 
were  such  that  Hyacinthe  was  blinded.  His  breath  came 
sharply  as  the  glow  beat  in  great  waves  on  the  wretched 
shed,  on  the  foam  of  shavings,  on  the  cabinet  with  the 
little  birds  and  the  lilies  carved  at  the  corners. 

He  was  too  pure  of  heart  to  feel  afraid.  But,  "  Blessed 
be  the  Lord, "  whispered  Hyacinthe,  clasping  his  slow  hands, 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM        153 

"  for  He  hath  visited  and  redeemed  his  people.    But  who 
will  believe?  " 

Then  the  sun  of  Christ's  day  rose  gloriously,  and  the 
little  sparrow  came  from  his  nest  among  the  shavings  and 
shook  his  wings  to  the  light. 

— Marjorie  L.  C.  Pickthall. 

MADAM  CECROPIA 
An  Easter  Story 

"  It  seems  strange  that  Carl  has  not  returned  from  his 
errand. ' '  The  mother  looked  into  her  husband 's  work-room 
anxiously.  "  There's  a  thunder  cloud  coming  up,  and  the 
child  went  without  a  coat." 

"  He  has  probably  found  some  *  specimen  '  and  has 
stopped  to  watch  it.  If  it  begins  to  rain,  he  will  run  in 
somewhere  for  shelter, ' '  her  husband  assured  her.  But  at 
the  same  time  he  went  out  upon  the  front  porch  with  her 
to  watch  for  the  coming  of  their  ten-year-old  boy. 

After  a  clap  of  thunder  and  a  short  silence  the  autumn 
shower  began  to  come  down  sharply ;  and  then  they  saw  him 
coming  very  leisurely  up  the  avenue,  in  his  blue  waist  and 
overalls,  and  taking  his  wetting  as  a  matter  of  course. 

' '  Why,  boy !  "his  mother  called,  ' '  hurry  in  and  change 
your  clothes.  Aren't  you  wet  through?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Carl,  "  but,  mother,  see  what  I've 
found." 

He  reached  deep  down  in  his  overalls  pocket  and  dre*.v 
forth  in  his  bare  hands  a  great,  fat,  smooth-bodied  cater- 


154  STORY-TELLING 

pillar  three  inches  long  —  light  green  with  yellow  prickles 
along  the  back  and  four  red  knobs  down  his  neck,  and 
with  short,  clinging  legs. 

"  The  horrid  thing!  "  exclaimed  his  mother.  But  the 
father,  remembering  that  worms  and  caterpillars  had  not 
been  abhorrent  to  him  when  he  was  a  boy,  persuaded  Carl 
to  deposit  his  treasure  in  a  thread-box  till  he  could  be 
put  into  dry  clothes. 

Then  Carl  looked  it  over  with  great  care  and  gave  it  as 
his  opinion  that,  as  the  creature  was  so  large  and  sluggish 
and  had  been  found  crawling  on  the  ground,  it  was  ready 
to  make  its  cocoon  and  die.  Meanwhile  Neal,  the  boy  of 
six,  had  been  watching  his  older  brother  and  taking  in  all 
that  was  said  as  from  an  oracle. 

After  the  shower  the  two  boys  went  and  gathered  leaves 
of  lilac,  and  apple,  and  soft  maple,  hoping  to  find  the  food 
the  worm  needed.  These  they  placed  in  the  open  box,  and 
then  set  it  on  the  wide  window  ledge  of  their  room. 

The  next  day  Neal  was  first  to  look  in  at  their  new  pos- 
session. "  Oh,  Carl!  "  he  called  in  very  real  distress, 
"  he's  gone!  The  big  worm  is  gone!  " 

The  mother  overheard  and  imagined  the  "  creature  " 
loose  and  crawling  over  the  pillows;  but  she  had  learned 
to  rely  upon  Carl  in  all  these  matters.  Soon  she  heard 
him  assuring  Neal.  "  It  can't  be  very  far  away,  Neal. 
Oh,  here  it  is  on  this  maple  twig  I  pinned  to  the  window 
curtain." 

"  And,  oh,  Carl,  it's  not  pretty  any  more!  It's  tangled 
in  spider  webs."  There  it  was  with  its  head  and  the  fore 


THE  STOKY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM        155 

part  of  its  body  raised  from  the  leaf,  moving  the  head 
deliberately  to  and  fro,  the  body  partly  enmeshed  in  what 
seemed  a  tangle  of  filmy,  cream-colored  gauze.  Carl  knew 
in  part  what  this  meant,  but  decided  not  to  tell  Neal  till 
the  miracle  was  finished. 

Two  or  three  times  during  the  day  they  looked  in  and 
watched  the  caterpillar  for  a  while,  until  it  had  completely 
wrapped  itself  from  sight.  Within  a  few  days  a  dull 
brownish-gray  cocoon  an  inch  through  and  about  three 
inches  long  was  completely  finished  and  fastened  firmly  to 
the  twig  by  the  window  casing. 

"  Isn't  it  strange,  mother,"  said  Carl  when  all  signs  of 
life  had  disappeared  in  the  cocoon,  "  that  any  animal 
should  know  enough  to  bury  itself,  and  that  it  should  spin 
its  own  grave  clothes  out  of  its  own  silk,  just  like  the  cloths 
in  the  mummy  case  we  saw  in  the  museum.  I  wonder  if 
we  should  keep  it  if  it  would  last  as  long  as  that  Egyp- 
tian mummy  did." 

His  mother  was  surprised.  She  thought  he  knew  what 
it  all  meant.  But  evidently  it  seemed  to  him  that  his 
beautiful  worm  had  lived  its  life  and  had  had  a  fitting 
burial. 

"  Let's  take  it  out  and  bury  it  just  as  we  did  puppy 
Fluff  when  the  automobile  ran  over  her,"  suggested  Neal. 

But  Carl  demurred.  "  Maybe  we  will  in  the  spring 
when  the  ground  is  warm  again.  But  it  will  soon  be  win- 
ter now." 

"  All  right,  Carl,  we'll  bury  it  when  the  flowers  come 
again  in  the  spring,"  assented  Neal. 


156  STORY-TELLING 

Then  winter  came,  other  matters  interested  the  boys, 
and  the  cocoon  on  the  window  casing  was  almost  forgotten. 
Like  many  another  familiar  object  in  a  room  it  would  have 
been  missed  if  it  had  been  removed,  but  being  present  and 
a  part  of  the  family  picture,  it  was  unnoticed. 

With  the  opening  of  spring  the  details  of  the  Easter 
story  came  to  Neal  for  the  first  time.  It  was  a  mystery. 
Fluffy  had  not  come  back  after  she  was  buried.  He  had 
not  known  anything  to  come  back.  And  yet  that  very 
morning  his  teacher  had  told  how  Jesus  had  come  out  of 
the  tomb  and  was  not  dead  any  more.  "  And,"  Carl 
added,  ' '  when  Jesus  came  back,  he  could  do  things  that  he 
could  not  do  before  he  was  dead." 

"  Yes,"  said  Neal,  "  he  could  go  about  as  if  he  had 
wings. ' ' 

"  Maybe  father  and  I  can  help  you  to  understand  this 
when  you  grow  a  little  older, ' '  said  the  mother. 

"  Our  teacher  told  us  about  plants  going  on  after  they 
seemed  dead,"  continued  Carl,  calling  through  the  open 
door  to  his  mother,  "  and  she  showed  us  bulbs  coming  out 
as  new  daffodils,  and  maple  seeds  springing  up  in  little 
shoots ;  but  that  isn  't  the  same.  They  're  plants.  They  're 
different." 

Just  then  Neal  remembered  the  cocoon.  "  Carl,"  he 
began,  "  don't  you  think  it  is  warm  enough  now  to  bury 
the  big  cocoon?  " 

"  Maybe,"  assented  Carl.    "  Let's  look  at  it  anyway." 

"  Why,    Neal,    the    thing's    empty!"    he    exclaimed. 


THE  STOEY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM  157 

"  There's  a  hole  in  one  end.     Who  has  meddled  with  it, 
do  you  think?  " 

"  Oh,  look,  look,  Carl!  on  the  curtain!  " 

"  Neal,  Neal!  "  cried  Carl  with  delight,  as  he  caught 
sight  of  the  great  moth  slowly  airing  and  unfolding  her 
magnificent  reddish-brown  wings  with  the  dark  '  eye  '  iij. 
the  outer  edge  of  the  upper  and  the  white  '  moon  '  glowing 
on  the  lower  one,  "  that's  a  cecropia — Samia  Cecropia  is 
the  name  Son  Carter  calls  her;  and  his  father  says  that 
Madam  Cecropia  is  the  very  finest  lady  in  Butterfly  Land. 
Mother,  isn't  she  a  beauty?  Call  Father." 

"  And  she  came  out  of  our  cocoon,"  marveled  Neal. 
' '  When  she  wound  herself  up,  she  was  a  big,  ugly  worm ; 
and  now  just  look  at  her!  " 

Carl's  mother  reminded  him  of  his  wish  to  see  some- 
thing in  the  animal  world  come  back  to  life. 

"  That's  so,"  said  Carl,  after  thinking  a  moment.  "  She 
looked  dead  in  her  mummy  case;  but  she  has  come  out; 
and  look  how  much  finer  than  she  was  in  her  other  life." 

' '  And  the  wings,  Carl, ' '  Neal  reminded. 

"  Yes,  and  Easter,  too,"  added  Carl.    "  Just  think!  " 

— Allen  Cross. 

THE  HOME-MADE  FLAG  * 

What  is  the  first  Fourth  of  July  you  remember,  Harry  ? 
Eighteen-seventy  six?  The  Centennial  Fourth.  We  were 

*  Reprinted  by  courtesy  of  the  publisher  from  "Bamboo:  Tales 
of  the  Orient-Born."  By  Lyon  Sharman  (Paul  Elder  and  Com- 
pany, 1914). 


]58  STORY-TELLINQ 

small  boys  then,  weren  't  we  ?  Let  me  see :  I  was  six  years 
old;  and  you  were  four?  Strange,  how  much  older  I  felt 
than  you,  just  because  you  found  "  centennial  "  hard  to 
pronounce.  And  yet  you  had  talked  Chinese  from  baby- 
hood, eh,  Harry?  But  there  was  no  word  in  Chinese  so 
hard  as  "  centennial,"  was  there? 

Do  you  remember  the  little  purple-covered  book  with 
the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  printed  in  it  ?  In  the 
back  of  that  book  on  a  large  sheet  like  a  folding  map,  was 
a  facsimile  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  You  and 
I  thumbed  and  tore  that  sheet,  and  decided  that  none  of 
the  great  men  could  write  so  well  as  our  mother.  But  we 
got  the  idea  clearly  that  the  Declaration  of  Independence 
and  a  war  called  the  Revolution,  made  the  beginning  of 
the  United  States  of  America,  and  we  were  always  eager 
to  hear  about  America.  You  and  I  had  more  than  one  dis- 
cussion in  the  Chinese  language  about  America,  the  country 
we  had  never  seen ;  where  father  lived  when  he  was  a  boy ; 
where  we  had  uncles  and  cousins  and  aunts  and  one  grand- 
mother; America  which  was  somehow  different  from  China, 
and  said  to  be  better. 

One  day  father  had  been  reading  a  new  number  of  some 
magazine — Scribner's,  I  think  —  and  we  had  been  climb 
ing  over  him,  asking  questions  about  the  pictures.  Then 
he  told  us  that  in  America,  in  a  city  called  Philadelphia 
(a  place  just  about  as  big  as  the  Chinese  city  we  were 
living  in)  they  were  planning  to  have  a  celebration  of  the 
hundredth  birthday  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 
and  that  a  hundredth  birthday  was  called  a  Centennial. 


THE  STOEY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM  159 

Thousands  of  people  were  going  to  the  celebration  from 
all  parts  of  the  United  States,  and  Aunt  Margaret  herself 
was  going. 

Why  weren't  they  going  to  have  a  Centennial  celebra- 
tion in  China  so  that  we  could  go?  The  question  gave 
father  an  idea. 

"  We  will  have  a  celebration  ...  on  the  Fourth  of 
July  ...  at  our  house.  We'll  put  up  a  pole  in  the 
yard  and  fly  the  American  flag."  After  a  moment  he 
added:  "  Run  and  ask  your  mother  whether  we  have  a 


Just  think  of  it,  Harry!  Except  in  pictures  you  and 
I  had  never  seen  the  American  flag !  And  I  was  six  years 
old !  Queer,  isn  't  it,  that  when  missionaries  pack  their 
trunks  for  a  foreign  land,  they  so  often  forget  to  put  in  a 
flag?  It  isn't  because  they  are  the  least  bit  unpatriotic; 
others  of  them  besides  father  fought  in  the  Civil  War.  I 
suppose  that  it  didn't  occur  to  our  parents  that  they 
wouldn  't  always  see  the  old  flag  just  the  same  as  at  home. 
But  when  they  discovered  that  their  children  were  growing 
up  without  a  star-spangled  banner,  it  gave  them  a  shock. 
I  remember  yet  how  emphatically  father  said,  "  Well,  I 
declare!  "  when  we  brought  back  word  from  mother  that 
we  had  no  flag.  "  Perhaps  we  can  borrow  one,"  he  said. 
But  we  could  not.  There  must  have  been  at  least  twenty 
Americans,  adults  and  children,  living  in  that  Chinese 
city,  and  among  them  all  there  was  not  to  be  found  an 
American  flag.  Doubtless  flags  can  be  bought  now  in 
Shanghai;  they  could  not  be  purchased  in  China  in  those 


160  STORY-TELLING 

days.  There  was  no  way  for  us  to  get  a  flag  in  time  for 
the  Fourth  of  July,  except  to  make  it. 

So  mother  bought  some  pieces  of  Chinese  cotton  in  white 
and  red  and  dark  blue,  and  for  days  her  spare  time  was 
spent  in  making  a  jolly  big  flag.  Do  you  remember  our 
puzzle-map  of  the  United  States?  Someone  had  sent  it  to 
us.  Not  a  bad  idea,  either!  It  was  dissected  into  blocks 
by  the  state  boundaries.  We  had  put  it  together  often, 
like  any  other  puzzle.  "While  mother  sewed  the  thirteen 
red  and  white  stripes  of  the  flag,  we  learned  the  names  of 
the  thirteen  original  colonies,  hunted  them  out  and  fitted 
them  together.  The  blue  square  with  the  stars  took  mother 
the  longest  time  to  make.  There  were  so  many  stars,  Harry 
—  but  not  nearly  so  many  as  there  are  now.  Each  star 
had  to  be  cut  with  five  points,  so  mother  insisted.  Do 
you  recall  what  a  knack  mother  had  at  cutting  five-pointed 
stars?  It's  really  quite  a  trick.  I  remember  how  I  tried 
it  over  and  over  again  with  pieces  of  paper.  My  stars 
always  came  out  lop-sided.  It  took  mother  a  long  while  to 
stitch  all  those  stars  neatly  on  the  blue  square;  and  we 
had  plenty  of  time  to  pick  out  a  state  for  each  star  and 
build  up  our  puzzle-map.  One  of  the  stars  was  for  Ohio. 
It  was  our  particular  star,  and  the  Ohio  of  the  puzzle-map 
grew  familiar  and  very  badly  thumbed.  That  was  where 
our  grandmother  and  uncles  and  aunts  and  cousins  lived. 
We  would  go  there  sometime  ourselves ! 

When  the  flag  was  finished,  it  seemed  to  us  very  big 
and  splendid.  The  Stars  and  Stripes!  Do  you  know, 
Harry,  often  when  I  hear  those  words,  I  get  to  thinking  of 


THE  STORY  IX  THE  SCHOOLROOM  IQl 

the  hours  of  patient  cutting  and  putting  together  of  our 
first  flag.  But  I  believe  it  was  worth  our  mother's  while, 
for  every  stitch  seemed  to  fasten  in  our  hearts  sentiment 
for  America.  It  made  us  love  the  United  States  as  we  can 
never  love  any  other  country,  Harry. 

Tell  me :  Do  you  remember  any  fire-crackers  connected 
with  that  Fourth  of  July  ?  I  don 't  either ;  and  fire-crackers 
are  so  common  in  China.  I  remember  the  annual  hubbub 
of  fire-crackers  at  the  Chinese  New  Year.  And  you  remem- 
ber, don't  you,  the  time  when  a  lot  of  the  Chinese  notables 
came  to  our  compound  to  nail  a  complimentary  inscription 
over  the  gate,  because  of  the  good  work  father  had  done 
in  the  mission  hospital?  Then  they  made  speeches  and 
fired  fire-crackers.  But  I  don't  think  we  had  any  fire- 
crackers that  Fourth  of  July.  Perhaps  we  thought  they 
were  too  Chinese  to  introduce  into  our  American  Fourth. 

I  believe  every  American  in  that  big  city,  man,  woman, 
and  child,  came  to  our  celebration  of  the  Centennial.  But 
that  was  not  many.  Do  you  think  there  were  more  than 
twenty-five,  counting  the  children  ?  There  were  three  Amer- 
ican missions,  and  only  a  family  or  two  at  each  mission. 
Most  of  them  came  in  sedan  chairs  which  were  put  down 
at  -our  front  gate.  I  recall  how  you  and  I  listened  for 
every  thumping  of  the  big  knocker  on  the  gate,  and  how 
we  ran  down  the  walk  to  see  who  it  was  the  gate-keeper 
admitted  to  the  compound. 

The  parlor  looked  quite  pretty  that  day.  Mother  had 
taste  in  putting  flowers  about  a  room;  and  Chinese  vases 
make  even  flowers  look  prettier.  In  the  center  of  the  room 


162  STOEY-TELLING 

hung  "  1876,"  done  in  orange  leaves  on  a  base  of  card- 
board ;  I  watched  mother  do  it.  Years  afterwards  she  used 
to  tell  how  old  Dr.  Gray  of  the  Southern  Mission  took  her 
pleasantly  to  task  for  putting  up  "  1876;"  why  not 
"  1776?  "  That  was  the  important  date.  Mother  made 
excuses  for  her  stupidity.  But  when  the  dining-room 
doors  were  opened,  there  hung  "  1776  "  in  green  figures 
over  the  table.  Mother  never  lost  her  relish  for  that  little 
joke  on  old  Dr.  Gray. 

I  suppose  we  ate  such  a  dinner  as  children  do  on  their 
great  occasions.  Do  you  remember  anything  about  that 
dinner,  Harry?  The  one  thing  I  remember  is  ice-cream. 
It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  tasted  ice-cream.  I've 
often  wondered  how  mother  got  the  ice  in  July  in  a  Chinese 
city;  but  ice-cream  we  had.  I  didn't  like  it;  it  gave  me 
a  queer  pain  in  my  head ! 

The  best  part  of  our  Centennial  celebration  came  after 
dinner.  Carefully  laid  away  in  a  place  known  to  you  and 
me,  was  the  American  flag.  The  bamboo  pole  was  already 
planted  in  the  front  yard.  The  grown  people  and  the 
children  all  went  out  of  doors,  and  you  and  I,  Harry, 
carried  out  the  flag.  Father  helped  us  run  it  up  the  pole, 
where  it  flapped  splendidly.  All  the  men  and  boys  took  off 
their  hats,  and  one  of  the  ladies  sang  "  The  Star-Spangled 
Banner. ' ' 

Do  you  know,  Harry,  I  wish  I  had  that  flag  now  —  with 
the  seams  up  and  down  the  stripes,  and  its  stitehed-on  stars. 
I  suppose  when  we  came  to  the  United  States  on  father's 
furlough,  it  was  given  to  some  other  American  children. 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM  I(j3 

If  American  flags  continued  to  be  scarce  in  China,  it  must 
have  worn  to  a  rag  long  ago.  But,  Harry,  if  we  could 
have  it  now,  we  would  cherish  it  as  veterans  do  the  battle- 
flags  of  their  regiment.  — Lyon  Sharman.  . 

How  JUNE  POUND  MASSA  LINKUM  * 

June  laid  down  her  knives  upon  the  scrubbing  board, 
and  stole  softly  out  into  the  yard.  Madame  Joilet  was 
taking  a  nap  upstairs,  and,  for  a  few  minutes  at  least,  the 
coast  seemed  to  be  quite  clear. 

Who  was  June?  and  who  was  Madame  Joilet? 

June  was  a  little  girl  who  had  lived  in  Richmond  ever 
since  she  could  remember,  who  had  never  been  outside  of 
the  city's  boundaries,  and  who  had  a  vague  idea  that  the 
North  lay  just  above  the  Chickahominy  River  and  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico  about  a  mile  below  the  James.  She  could  not 
tell  A  from  Z,  nor  the  figure  1  from  40. 

Somebody  asked  June  once  how  old  she  was. 

' '  'Spect  I 's  a  hundred  —  dunno, ' '  she  said  gravely. 

Exactly  how  old  she  was  nobody  knew.  She  was  not 
tall  enough  to  be  more  than  seven,  but  her  face  was  like 
the  face  of  a  little  old  woman.  It  was  a  queer  little  face, 
with  thick  lips  and  low  forehead,  and  great  mournful  eyes. 
There  was  something  strange  about  those  eyes.  Whenever 
they  looked  at  one,  they  seemed  to  cry  right  out,  as  if  they 
had  a  voice.  But  no  one  in  Richmond  cared  about  that. 
Nobody  cared  about  June  at  all.  If  she  broke  a  teacup 

*  Reprinted  from  Junior  Classics  with  the  permission  of  P.  F. 
Collier  &  Son. 


164  STOKY-TELLING 

or  spilled  a  mug  of  coffee,  she  had  her  ears  boxed,  t>r  was 
shut  up  in  a  terrible  dark  cellar,  where  the  rats  were  as 
large  as  kittens.  If  she  tried  to  sing  a  little,  in  her  sorrowful, 
smothered  way,  over  her  work,  Madame  Joilet  shook  her 
for  making  so  much  noise.  When  she  stopped,  she  scolded 
her  for  being  sulky.  She  had  not  half  enough  to  eat,  nor 
half  enough  to  wear.  What  was  worse  than  that,  she  had 
nobody  to  kiss,  and  nobody  in  all  the  wide  world  to  care 
whether  she  lived  or  died,  except  a  half-starved  kitten 
that  lived  in  the  woodshed.  For  June  was  black,  and  a 
slave;  and  this  French  woman,  Madame  Joilet,  was  her 
mistress. 

That  there  had  been  a  war,  June  gathered  from  old 
Creline,  who  told  her  ghost  stories.  What  it  was  all  about, 
she  did  not  know.  Madame  Joilet  said  some  terrible  giants, 
called  Yankees,  were  coming  down  to  eat  up  all  the  little 
black  girls  in  Richmond.  Creline  said  that  the  Yankees  were 
the  Messiah's  people,  and  were  coming  to  set  the  negroes 
free. 

Now,  this  morning,  Creline  had  whispered  mysteriously 
to  June,  as  she  went  up  the  street  to  sell  some  eggs  for 
Madame  Joilet,  that  Massa  Linkum  was  coming  that  very 
day.  June  knew  nothing  about  those  grand,  immortal 
words  of  his  which  had  made  every  slave  in  Richmond 
free;  it  had  never  entered  Madame  Joilet 's  plan  that  she 
should  know. 

While  her  mistress  was  safely  asleep  upstairs,  she  had 
stolen  out  to  watch  for  the  wonderful  sight.  She  was 


THE  STOKT  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM  165 

standing  there  on  tiptoe  on  the  fence,  in  her  little  ragged 
dress,  with  the  black  kitten  in  her  arms,  when  a  great 
crowd  turned  a  corner,  tossed  up  a  cloud  of  dust,  and 
swept  up  the  street.  There  were  armed  soldiers  with  glit- 
tering uniforms,  and  there  were  flags  flying,  and  merry 
voices  shouting,  and  huzzas  and  blessings  distinct  upon 
the  air.  There  were  long  lines  of  dusky  faces  upturned, 
and  wet  with  happy  tears.  There  were  angry  faces,  too, 
scowling  from  windows,  and  lurking  in  dark  corners. 

June  stood  still,  and  held  her  breath  to  look,  and  saw 
in  the  midst  of  it  all,  a  tall  man  dressed  in  black.  He 
had  a  thin,  white  face,  sad-eyed  and  kindly  and  quiet,  and 
he  was  bowing  and  smiling  to  the  people  on  either  side. 

"  God  bress  yer,  Massa  Linkum,  God  bress  yer !  "  shouted 
the  happy  voices.  June  laughed  outright  for  glee,  and 
lifted  up  her  little  thin  voice  and  cried,  '  Bress  yer,  Massa 
Linkum!  "  with  the  rest,  and  knew  no  more  than  the  kitty 
what  she  did  it  for. 

The  great  man  turned,  and  saw  June  standing  alone  in 
the  sunlight,  the  fresh  wind  blowing  her  ragged  dress,  her 
little  black  shoulders  just  reaching  to  the  top  of  the  fence, 
her  wide-open,  mournful  eyes,  and  the  kitten  squeezed  in 
her  arms.  And  he  looked  right  at  her,  oh,  so  kindly ;  and 
and  gave  her  a  smile  all  to  herself  —  one  of  his  rare  smiles, 
with  a  bit  of  a  quiver  in  it  —  and  bowed,  and  was  gone. 

"  Take  me  '  long  wid  yer,  Massa  Linkum,  Massa  Lin- 
kum! "  called  poor  June  faintly.  But  no  one  heard  her; 
and  the  crowd  swept  on,  and  June's  voice  broke  into  a 


166  STORY-TELLING 

cry,  and  the  hot  tears  came,  and  she  laid  her  face  down 
on  Hungry  to  hide  them.  You  see,  in  all  her  life,  no  one 
had  ever  looked  so  at  June  before. 

"  June,  June,  come  here!  "  called  a  sharp  voice  from 
the  house.  But  June  was  sobbing  so  hard  she  did  not  hear. 

' '  Venez  ici  —  vite,  vite  !  June !  Voila !  The  little  nig- 
ger will  be  the  death  of  me.  She  tears  my  heart.  June, 
vite,  I  say !  ' ' 

June  started,  and  jumped  down  from  the  fence,  and 
ran  into  the  house  with  great  frightened  eyes. 

"  I  just  didn't  mean  to,  noways,  missus.  I  want  to  see 
Massa  Linkum,  an '  he  look  at  me,  an '  I  done  forget  ebery- 
ting.  O  missus,  don't  beat  me  dis  yere  time,  an'  I'll 
neber —  " 

But  Madame  Joilet  interrupted  her  with  a  box  on  the 
ear,  and  dragged  her  upstairs.  There  was  a  terrible  look 
on  Madame 's  face.  Just  what  happened  upstairs,  I  have 
not  the  heart  to  tell  you. 

That  night,  June  was  crouched,  sobbing  and  bruised, 
behind  the  kitchen  stove,  when  Creline  came  in  on  an 
errand  for  her  mistress.  Madame  Joilet  was  obliged  to 
leave  the  room  for  a  few  minutes,  and  the  two  were  alone 
together.  June  crawled  out  from  behind  the  stove.  "  I 
see  him  —  I  see  Massa  Linkum,  Creline." 

' '  De  Lord  bress  him  f  oreber  'n  eber.  Amen !  ' '  exclaimed 
Creline  fervently,  throwing  up  her  old  thin  hands. 

"  Creline,  what's  he  done  gone  come  down  here  fur? 
Am  he  de  Messiah?  " 

' '  Bress  yer  soul,  chile !  don '  ye  know  better  'n  dat  ar  ?  " 


THE  STOEY  IN  THE  SCHOOLEOOM        167 

' '  Don '  know  nuffin, '  '.said  June  sullenly.  ' '  Neber  knows 
nuffin;  'spects  I  neber's  gwine  to.  Can'  go  out  in  de  road 
to  fine  out  —  she  beat  me.  Can'  ask  nuffin  —  she  jest  gib 
me  a  push  down  cellar.  O  Creline,  der's  seek  rats  down  dar 
now  —  dar  is !  " 

"  Yer  poor  critter!  "  said  Creline,  with  great  contempt 
for  her  ignorance.  "  Why,  Massa  Linkum,  eberybody  knows 
'bout  he.  He's  done  gone  made  we  free  —  whole  heap 
on  we." 

' '  Free !  ' '  echoed  June,  with  puzzled  eyes. 

' '  Laws,  yes,  chile ;  'pears  like  yer  's  drefful  stupid.  Yer 
don'  b'long —  "  Creline  lowered  her  voice  to  a  mysterious 
whisper,  and  looked  carefully  at  the  closed  door  — ' '  yer 
don'  b'long  to  Missus  Jully  no  more  dan  she  b'long  to  you, 
an '  dat  's  de  truf e  now,  'case  Massa  Linkum  say  so  —  God 
bress  him!  " 

Just  then  Madame  Joilet  came  back. 

"  What's  that  you're  talking  about?  "  she  said  sharply. 

"  June  was  jes'  sayin'  what  a  heap  she  tink  ob  you, 
missus, ' '  said  Creline  with  a  grave  face. 

June  lay  awake  a  long  time  that  night,  thinking  about 
Massa  Linkum,  and  the  wonderful  news  Creline  had 
brought,  and  wondering  when  Madame  Joilet  would  tell  her 
that  she  was  free. 

But  many  days  passed,  and  Madame  said  nothing  about 
it.  Creline 's  son  had  left  his  master  and  gone  North. 
Creline  herself  had  asked  and  obtained  scanty  wages  for 
her  work.  A  little  girl,  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away, 
whose  name  June  had  often  heard,  had  just  found  her 


168  STORY-TELLING 

father,  who  had  been  sold  away  from  her  years  ago,  and 
had  come  into  Richmond  with  the  Yankee  soldiers.  But 
nothing  had  happened  to  June.  She  was  whipped  and 
scolded  and  threatened  and  frightened  and  shaken  just 
as  she  had  been  ever  since  she  could  remember.  She  was 
kept  shut  up  like  a  prisoner  in  the  house,  with  Madame 
Joilet's  cold  gray  eyes  forever  on  her,  and  her  sharp  voice 
forever  in  her  ear.  And  still  not  a  word  was  said  about 
Massa  Linkum  and  the  beautiful  freedom  he  had  given  to 
all  such  as  little  June,  and  not  a  word  did  June  dare  to 
say. 

But  June  thought.  Madame  Joilet  could  not  help  that. 
If  Madame  had  known  just  what  June  was  thinking,  she 
would  have  tried  hard  to  help  it. 

Well,  so  the  days  passed,  and  the  weeks,  and  still  Madame 
said  not  a  word,  and  June  worked  and  cried.  But  June 
had  not  done  all  her  thinking  for  nothing. 

One  night  Creline  was  going  by  the  house,  when  June 
called  to  her  softly  through  the  fence. 

"  Creline!  " 

"  What's  de  matter?  "  said  Creline,  who  was  in  a  great 
hurry. 

"  I 's  gwine  to  fine  Massa  Linkum  —  don '  yer  tell  no- 
body." 

"  Law's  a  massy,  what  a  young  un  dat  ar  chile  is!  " 
said  Creline,  thinking  that  June  had  just  waked  up  from 
a  dream,  and  forthwith  forgetting  all  about  her. 

Madame  Joilet  always  locked  June  in  her  room,  which 
was  nothing  but  a  closet  with  a  window  in  it,  and  a  heap 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLEOOM        169 

of  rags  for  a  bed.  On  this  particular  night  she  turned  the 
key  as  usual,  and  then  went  to  her  own  room  at  the  other 
end  of  the  house,  where  she  was  soon  soundly  asleep. 

About  eleven  o'clock,  when  all  the  house  was  still,  the 
window  of  June 's  closet  softly  opened.  There  was  a  roofed 
doorway  just  underneath  it,  with  an  old  grape-vine  trellis 
running  up  one  side  of  it.  A  little  dark  figure  stepped 
out  timidly  on  the  narrow,  steep  roof,  clinging  with  its 
hands  to  keep  its  balance,  and  then  down  upon  the  trellis, 
down  which  it  began  to  crawl  slowly.  The  trellis  creaked 
and  shook  and  cracked,  but  it  held  on,  and  June  held 
on,  and  dropped  softly  down,  gasping  and  terrified  at  what 
she  had  done,  all  in  a  little  heap  on  the  grass  below. 

She  lay  there  a  moment  perfectly  still.  She  could  not 
catch  her  breath  at  first,  and  she  trembled  so  that  she 
could  not  move. 

Then  she  crept  along  on  tiptoe  to  the  woodshed.  She 
could  not  go  without  Hungry.  She  went  in,  and  called 
in  a  faint  whisper.  The  kitten  knew  her,  dark  as  it  was, 
and  ran  out  from  the  woodpile  with  a  joyful  mew,  to  rub 
itself  against  her  dress. 

"  We's  gwine  to  fine  Massa  Linkum,  you  an'  me,  bof  two 
togeder, ' '  said  June. 

"  Pur!  pur-r-r!  "  said  Hungry,  as  if  she  were  quite 
content;  and  June  took  her  up  in  her  arms,  and  laughed 
softly. 

She  went  out  of  the  woodshed  and  out  of  the  yard,  hush- 
ing the  soft  laugh  on  her  lips,  and  holding  her  breath 
as  she  passed  under  her  mistress'  window.  She  had  heard 


170  STORY-TELLING 

Creline  say  that  Massa  Linkum  had  gone  back  to  the  North ; 
so  she  walked  up  the  street  a  little  way,  and  then  she  turned 
aside  into  the  vacant  squares  and  unpaved  roads,  and  so 
out  into  the  fields  where  no  one  could  see  her. 

Tt  was  very  still  and  very  dark.  The  great  trees  stood 
up  like  giants  against  the  sky,  and  the  wind  howled  hoarsely 
through  them. 

"  I  reckon  'tain't  on'y  little  ways,  Hungry,"  she  said 
with  a  shiver ;  "  we  '11  git  dar  'fore  long.  Don '  be  'f raid. ' ' 

"  Pur!  pur-r-r!  "  said  Hungry,  nestling  her  head  in 
warmly  under  June's  arm. 

'  'Spect  you  lub  me,  Hungry  —  'spect  you  does !  ' ' 

And  then  June  laughed  softly  once  more.  What  would 
Massa  Linkum  say  to  the  kitty  ? 

So  she  folded  her  arms  tightly  over  Hungry 's  soft  fur, 
and  trudged  away  into  the  woods.  She  never  once  doubted, 
in  that  foolish  little  trusting  heart  of  hers,  that  he  would 
be  glad  to  see  her,  and  Hungry  too. 

So  on  and  away,  deep  into  the  woods  and  swamps,  she 
trudged  cheerily ;  and  she  sang  low  to  Hungry,  and  Hungry 
purred  to  her.  The  night  passed  on  and  the  stars  grew 
pale,  the  woods  deepened  and  thickened,  the  swamps  were 
cold  and  wet,  the  brambles  scratched  her  hands  and  feet. 

"  It's  jes'  ober  here  little  ways,  Hungry,"  trying  to 
laugh.  "  We'll  fine  him  purty  soon.  I's  terrible  tired 
an'  —  sleepy,  Hungry." 

She  sat  down  there  on  a  heap  of  leaves  to  rest,  and  laid 
her  head  down  upon  her  arm,  and  Hungry  mewed  a  little 
and  curled  up  in  her  neck.  The  next  she  knew,  the  sun 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM  171 

was  shning.  She  jumped  up  frightened  and  puzzled,  and 
then  she  remembered  where  she  was,  and  began  to  think  of 
breakfast.  But  there  were  no  berries  but  the  poisonous 
dog-wood,  and  nothing  to  be  seen  but  leaves  and  grass 
and  bushes. 

About  noon  they  came  to  a  bit  of  a  brook.  June  scooped 
up  the  water  in  her  hands,  and  Hungry  lapped  it  with  her 
pink  tongue. 

"  I  didn't  'spect  it  was  so  fur,"  groaned  poor  June. 
"  But  don't  yer  be  'feared  now,  Hungry.  Tears  like 
we  '11  fine  him  berry  soon. ' ' 

The  sun  went  down,  and  the  twilight  came.  No  supper, 
and  no  sign  of  Massa  Linkum  yet.  "  We'll  fine  him, 
Hungry,  sure,  to-morrer.  He'll  jes'  open  de  door  and' 
let  us  right  in,  he  will ;  an '  he  '11  hab  breakf  as '  all  ready  an ' 
waitin';  'pears  like  he'll  hab  a  dish  ob  milk  up  in  de 
corner  for  you  now  —  tink  o'  dat  ar,  Hungry!  "  and  then 
the  poor  little  voice  that  tried  to  be  so  brave  broke  down 
into  a  great  sob.  "  Ef  I  on'y  jes'  had  one  little  mouthful 
now,  Hungry!  —  on'y  one!  " 

So  another  night  passed,  and  another  morning  came.  A 
faint  noise  woke  June  from  her  uneasy  sleep,  when  the 
sun  was  hardly  up.  It  was  Hungry,  purring  loudly  at 
her  ear.  A  plump  young  robin  lay  quivering  between  her 
paws.  She  laid  the  poor  creature  down  by  June's  face, 
looking  proudly  from  June  to  it,  saying  as  plainly  as 
words  could  say,  "  Here's  a  fine  breakfast.  I  got  it  on 
purpose  for  you. 

But  June  turned  away  her  eyes  and  moaned ;  and  Hun- 


172  STOEY-TELLING 

gry,  in  great  perplexity,  made  away  with  the  robin  herself. 

Presently  June  crawled  feebly  to  her  feet,  and  pushed 
on  through  the  brambles.  The  kitten,  purring  in  her 
arms,  looked  so  happy  and  contented  with  her  breakfast 
that  the  child  cried  out  at  the  sight  of  it  in  sudden  pain. 

"  O,  I  tought  we'd  git  dar  'fore  now,  an'  I  tought  he'd 
jes '  be  so  glad  to  see  us !  "  —  and  then  presently,  ' '  He  jes ' 
look  so  kinder  smilin'  right  out  ob  his  eyes,  Hungry!  " 

A  bitter  wind  blew  from  the  east  that  day,  and  before 
noon  the  rain  was  falling,  dreary  and  chilly  and  sharp. 
It  soaked  June's  feet  and  ragged  dress,  and  pelted  in  her 
face. 

Just  as  the  early  twilight  fell  from  the  leaden  sky,  she 
tripped  over  a  little  stone,  fell  weakly  to  the  ground,  and 
lay  still. 

But  somehow  June  felt  neither  troubled  nor  afraid.  She 
lay  there  with  her  face  upturned  to  the  pelting  rain,  watch- 
ing it  patter  from  leaf  to  leaf,  listening  to  the  chirp  of 
the  birds  in  the  nests,  listening  to  the  crying  of  the  wind. 
She  liked  the  sound.  She  should  like  to  lie  there  all  night 
and  listen  to  it;  and  then  in  the  morning  they  would  go 
on  and  find  him  —  in  the  morning ;  it  would  come  very 
soon. 

The  twilight  deepened,  and  the  night  came  on.  The 
rain  fell  faster,  and  the  sharp  wind  cried  aloud. 

"  It's  bery  cold,"  said  June  sleepily,  and  turned  her 
face  over  to  hide  it  on  the  kitten 's  warm,  soft  fur.  ' '  Goo ' 
night,  Hungry.  We'll  git  dar  to-morrer.  We's  mos'  dar, 
Hungry. 


THE  STORY  IN  THE  SCHOOLROOM  173 

The  rain  fell  faster,  and  the  sharp  wind  cried  aloud.  The 
kitten  woke  from  a  nap,  and  purred  for  her  to  stir  and 
speak ;  but  June  said  nothing  more. 

Still  the  rain  fell,  and  the  wind  cried;  and  the  long 
night  and  the  storm  and  the  darkness  passed,  and  the  morn- 
ing came. 

Hungry  stirred  under  June's  arm,  and  licked  her  face, 
and  mewed  piteously  at  her  ear.  But  June's  arm  lay  still, 
and  June  said  no  word. 

Somewhere,  in  a  land  where  there  was  never  slave  and 
never  mistress,  and  where  there  were  no  more  hungry  days 
and  frightened  nights,  little  June  was  laughing  softly,  and 
had  found  some  one  to  love  her  at  last.  And  so  she  did  not 
find  Massa  Linkum  after  all  ?  Ah !  —  who  would  have 
guessed  it?  To  that  place  where  June  had  gone,  where 
there  are  no  masters  and  no  slaves,  he  had  gone  before  her. 

And  don 't  I  suppose  his  was  the  first  face  she  saw,  as  she 
passed  through  the  storm  and  the  night  to  that  waiting, 
beautiful  place?  And  don't  I  suppose  he  smiled  as  he 
had  smiled  before,  and  led  her  gently  to  that  other  Face, 
of  which  poor  little  June  had  known  nothing  in  all  her  life  ? 
Of  course  I  do.  — Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps. 


CHAPTER  V 

STORIES  AND  PICTURE  STUDY 

Picture  study  usually  implies  nothing  more  than  look- 
ing at  pictures  for  mere  entertainment,  or  with  more 
advanced  students  an  examination  of  masterpieces  for  the 
purpose  of  becoming  acquainted  with  the  technique  of  the 
artist.  The  story-teller  makes  no  use  of  the  second  of 
these  methods  of  approach,  but  an  extended  use  of  the  first. 
Pictures  entertain,  but  each  masterpiece  has  an  additional 
interest  in  the  story  that  is  associated  with  it.  A  picture 
is  the  starting  point  for  many  an  interesting  narrative.  The 
child  may  learn  the  story  back  of  the  picture,  and  some- 
thing of  the  life  and  work  of  the  artist  who  painted  it. 
And,  like  stories,  pictures  may  be  selected  and  arranged 
in  an  ordered  sequence,  so  as  to  set  forth  the  significant 
events  in  a  life  or  in  an  epic. 

Perhaps  the  most  beautiful  and  complete  picture  story 
one  could  arrange  is  that  of  the  life  of  Christ,  as  shown 
in  the  pictures  of  the  masters. 

What  follows  is  a  tentative  list,  which  may  be  supple- 
mented with  other  pictures,  if  you  wish  the  cycle  to  be 
longer.  All  of  these  pictures  may  be  purchased  from  the 
Perry  Picture  Co. 

174 


STOKIES  AND   PICTURE  STUDY  175 

The  Announcement.  Plockhorst. 

The  Holy  Night.  Correggio. 

Adoration  of  the  Magi.  Da  Fabriano. 

Sistine  Madonna.  Raphael. 

Madonna  of  the  Chair.  Raphael. 

Mother  and  Child.  Bodenhausen. 

Flight  into  Egypt.  Dtirer. 

Repose  in  Egypt.  "Fan  DycTc. 

Worship  of  the  Wise  Men.  Hofmann. 

In  the  Temple  with  the  Doctors.  Hofmann. 

Christ  and  the  Doctors.  Hofmann. 

Christ  Blessing  Little  Children.  Hofmann. 

Driving  out  the  Money  Changers.  Hofmann. 

Anointing  Jesus'  Feet.  Hofmann. 

Teaching  from  a  Boat.  Hofmann. 

Christ's  Entry  into  Jerusalem.  Hofmann. 

Kiss  of  Judas.  Geiger. 

Descent  from  the  Cross.  Rubens. 

Christ  before  Pilate.  Munkacsy. 

The  Resurrection.  Naack. 

The  Three  Marys  at  the  Tomb.  Spurgenberg. 

Easter  Morning.  Plockhorst. 

Holy  Women  at  the  Tomb.  Ender. 

Easter  Morning.  Hofmann. 

The  children  should  become  familiar  with  at  least  fifteen 
or  twenty  masters.  Of  the  Italian  masters  we  might  take: 
Leonardo  Da  Vinci  (1452-1519),  Michael  Angelo  (1475- 
1564),  Titian  (1477-1576),  Raphael  (1483-1520),  Correggio 
(1494-1534)  and  Guido  Reni  (1575-1642).  They  should 
know  something  about  the  life  of  each  one.  Leonardo 
Da  Vinci's  great  strength,  both  of  mind  and  body,  should 
be  noted. 

A  story  should  be  made  of  the  following  incident  of  the 
Master  Verrocchio  and  his  pupil. 

Verrocchio  commanded  his  pupil  to  paint  in  one  of  the 


176  STOEY-TELLING 

angel  heads  in  a  picture  which  he  was  hastily  finishing. 
Seeing  that  his  pupil  could  paint  it  better  than  he  could 
have  done,  he  hastily  burned  his  brushes  and  palette  and 
declared  that  he  would  never  paint  again. 

The  two  Da  Vinci  pictures  that  are  best  known,  and  of 
which  the  most  should  be  made,  are  The  Last  Supper  and 
Mona  Lisa. 

Michael  Angelo  and  Raphael  might  be  studied  together, 
for  they  were  the  leading  artists  of  Rome  and  Florence  in 
the  sixteenth  century.  Michael  Angelo  loved  architecture 
and  sculpture  better  than  painting,  but  at  the  command  of 
the  Pope  he  was  obliged  to  drop  the  mallet  and  chisel  to 
take  up  the  brush,  and  adorn  the  ceiling  of  the  Sistine 
chapel,  though  he  told  the  Pope  that  this  should  be  the 
work  of  the  painter,  Raphael. 

Like  Michael  Angelo,  Raphael  was  a  sculptor  and  archi- 
tect also,  but  we  know  him  best  as  a  painter.  Look  for  a 
moment  at  two  of  his  Madonnas,  the  Madonna  della  Sedia, 
or  Madonna  of  the  Chair,  and  the  Sistine  Madonna,  per- 
haps the  last  picture  of  the  Holy  Family  ever  painted  by 
a  master  artist.  There  is  a  beautiful  story  associated  with 
the  Madonna  of  the  Chair. 

There  was  an  old  hermit  who  had  but  two  friends,  one  a 
young  girl  named  Mary,  the  daughter  of  a  vine  dresser, 
and  the  other  an  old  oak  tree  which  stood  near  his  hut.  A 
terrible  storm  destroyed  the  old  man's  hut,  and  he  was 
compelled  to  find  a  refuge  in  the  tree.  Mary  took  him 
to  her  home  and  cared  for  him.  The  oak  tree  was  cut 
down,  and  casks  were  made  from  the  wood.  Before  the 


STORIES  AND  PICTURE  STUDY  177 

old  man  died,  he  prayed  that  both  of  his  friends  might 
always  be  remembered.  Mary  was  afterward  married  and 
became  the  mother  of  two  beautiful  children.  One  day  the 
painter  Raphael  passed  her  home  and  saw  Mary  and  her 
two  children  in  her  garden.  He  took  the  top  of  one  of  the 
casks  standing  near  by  (which  happened  to  be  one  of  the 
casks  made  from  the  hermit's  oak  tree)  and  sketched  the 
group  upon  it.  He  carried  it  home  and  from  this  painted 
the  Madonna  della  Sedia.  The  old  hermit's  prayer  was 
answered. 

The  Sistine  Madonna  is  named  for  St.  Sixtus.  The  left 
hand  figure  gives  us  the  feeling  of  a  divine  moment  in  the 
lives  of  the  people  pictured.  Perhaps  one  reason  for  this 
lies  in  the  ethereal  setting  of  the  picture.  The  Madonna 
is  standing  upon  and  being  lifted  up  by  the  clouds.  St. 
Sixtus  is  looking  in  adoration  upon  the  Mother  and  child, 
while  St.  Barbara  upon  the  right  is  gazing  down  upon 
earth.  The  two  cherubs  at  the  bottom  complete  the  unity 
of  the  picture. 

While  Michael  Angelo  and  Raphael  were  working  in 
Rome  and  Florence,  Titian  was  working  in  Venice.  The 
Venetian  pictures  were  notable  for  their  brilliant  coloring, 
while  perfection  of  line  was  of  secondary  importance.  When 
Titian  accepted  the  invitation  of  the  Pope  to  come  to 
Rome,  Michael  Angelo  visited  him  in  his  studio.  Michael 
Angelo  admired  the  wonderful  coloring  of  the  Venetian 
painter,  but  deplored  the  fact  that  he  could  not  draw  better. 
The  Roman  painters  believed  that  the  secret  of  good  art 
was  in  correct  lines,  while  the  Ventians  thought  more  of 


178  STORY-TELLING 

coloring.  Titian's  picture  of  St.  Christopher  is  a  wonder- 
ful representation  of  the  old  legend  of  the  giant  carrying 
the  Christ  child  across  the  stream.  The  legend  doubtless  is 
familiar  to  all. 

Correggio's  life  and  works  differ  from  any  other  Italian 
artist  we  have  considered.  He  was  never  placed  under  any 
great  painter,  but  studied  in  an  art  school  in  Mantua. 
Correggio's  Holy  Night  is  familiar  to  all  of  us.  The  holy 
light  radiates  from  the  child  in  Mary's  arms  and  lights 
up  the  mother's  face.  At  the  left  side  are  the  figures  of  a 
shepherdess  and  two  shepherds.  The  woman  shades  her 
face  from  the  light  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other 
she  holds  her  offering  —  two  doves  in  a  basket  —  for  the 
Christ  child.  In  the  background  is  Joseph  with  the  ass. 
Day  is  just  breaking,  as  is  indicated  by  the  faint  light  in 
the  East.  Above  circles  an  angelic  choir.  Correggio  was 
very  fond  of  painting  cherubs,  angels,  and  children. 

Guido  Reni  should  be  included  in  our  list  because  he  is 
the  creator  of  the  Aurora.  This  picture  and  the  story  it 
portrays  should  be  known  by  every  grammar  grade  child. 
How  this  picture  enriches  the,  old  Greek  stories!  Aurora, 
the  Goddess  of  the  Dawn,  is  opening  the  gates  of  the  morn- 
ing for  her  brother  Apollo,  the  sun  god.  Below  is  the 
earth  wrapped  in  darkness.  Apollo,  in  his  chariot  drawn 
by  his  impatient  steeds,  is  surrounded  by  the  hours  in 
the  form  of  graceful  maidens. 

There  are  two  Spanish  artists  with  whom  the  children 
should  be  familiar:  Velasquez  (1599-1660)  -and  Murillo 
(1617-1682).  Velasquez  was  court  painter  for  Philip  IV. 


STORIES  AND  PICTURE  STUDY  179 

At  the  age  of  twenty-three  his  teacher  advised  him  to  leave 
Seville,  his  birthplace,  and  go  to  Madrid.  He  wished  to 
see  the  King,  but  did  not  until  some  time  later  on  his 
second  visit.  When  the  King  saw  one  of  Velasquez's  por- 
traits, he  sat  for  a  portrait  himself.  So  delighted  was  he 
with  the  finished  picture  that  he  kept  Velasquez  with  him, 
fitting  up  a  studio  for  the  young  painter  in  his  palace. 

Soon  Velasquez  and  his  family  were  settled  in  Madrid. 
It  was  Rubens,  the  great  Flemish  artist,  when  on  a  visit 
to  Madrid,  who  told  Velasquez  of  the  great  masterpieces 
of  Italian  art. 

Velasquez  immediately  asked  for  permission  to  go  to 
Italy  and  see  the  masterpieces  of  these  artists.  After 
some  argument  Philip  gave  the  wished-for  permission,  but 
exacted  a  promise  from  the  artist  that  he  would  return  to 
the  Spanish  court.  In  eighteen  months  the  painter  was 
called  back  by  the  impatient  King.  He  continued  to  paint 
court  pictures  in  Madrid  until  the  end  of  his  days.  The 
court  of  King  Philip  IV  is  made  familiar  to  us  thru  the 
pictures  of  Velasquez. 

Murillo 's  works  "differ  very  much  from  the  Spanish 
master  we  have  been  considering.  His  subjects  were  usually 
children  or  religious  subjects.  He  painted  peasant  chil- 
dren, while  Velasquez  depicted  the  children  of  the  court. 
His  conceptions  were  more  imaginary,  while  those  of 
Velasquez  were  true  to  life.  We  might  say  that  Velasquez 
depicted  realistic  truth,  while  Murillo  depicted  symbolical 
truth.  His  Saint  Anthony  of  Padua,  the  story  of  whose 
life  Murillo  was  very  fond,  won  for  him  the  title  "  The 


180  STORY-TELLING 

Painter  of  Heaven."  Murillo's  Madonnas  are  very  beau- 
tiful. 

While  Velasquez  was  painting  royalty  in  the  court  of 
King  Philip  in  Spain,  Van  Dyck,  the  Flemish  painter,  was 
performing  a  similar  service  for  King  Charles  I  of  Eng- 
land. He  had  been  summoned  to  England  as  court  painter. 
Anthony  Van  Dyck  had  studied  with  the  famous  Rubens, 
and  was  considered  his  best  pupil. 

We  do  not  wish  to  pass  Dutch  Art  without  knowing  at 
least  one  or  two  artists.  Let  us  take  Rembrandt,  the 
painter  of  people,  and  Paul  Potter,  the  painter  of  animals. 
In  Rembrandt's  work  we  are  particularly  drawn  to  the 
strong  faces  which  he  portrays.  Paul  Potter  began  his 
study  of  animal  life  very  early,  and  at  the  age  of  fourteen 
he  was  able  to  paint  with  great  success  the  animals  he  loved. 
His  picture,  The  Bull,  is  one  of  his  best. 

Of  the  English  artists,  let  us  consider  Reynolds  (1723- 
1792),  Turner  (1775-1851)  and  Landseer  (1802-1873).  Rey- 
nolds held  the  first  place  in  the  realm  of  portrait  painters. 
Some  of  his  pictures  of  children  remind  us  very  much  of 
Murillo's  children.  He  had  the  happy  faculty  of  catching 
their  attitudes  while  in  play.  Reynolds'  child  pictures  are 
particularly  fascinating  to  children,  and  their  imagina- 
tions often  run  riot  in  interpreting  these  pictures.  One 
little  lady  of  nine  years,  upon  seeing  Age  of  Innocence  for 
the  first  time  exclaimed,  ' '  Oh !  she  must  be  looking  straight 
into  fairyland." 

Turner  was  a  lover  of  color  and  never  cared  particularly 
for  correct  form. 


STORIES  AND  PICTURE  STUDY  181 

Landseer,  the  animal  painter,  who  has  been  called  ' '  The 
Animal  Story-teller  of  the  Victorian  Age, "  is  a  great  favor- 
ite with  children.  Each  of  his  dog  pictures,  for  which  he 
is  famous,  tells  a  story. 

The  French  painters  whom  we  wish  to  introduce  to  the 
children  would  certainly  include  Troyon  (1810-1865),  who 
received  his  inspiration  as  an  animal  painter  from  Paul 
Potter's  pictures.  He  is  considered  one  of  the  best  painters 
of  sheep  and  oxen.  Corot  (1796-1875)  loved  landscapes. 
His  trees  and  foliage  are  distinctive.  Children  like  his 
nature  pictures.  The  two  peasant  painters,  Millet  (1814- 
1875),  and  Breton  (b.  1827)  should  be  studied  together, 
so  that  their  lives,  their  ideas,  and  their  general  effects 
may  be  compared.  After  a  sixth  grade  class  had  been 
looking  at  the  pictures  of  Millet  and  Breton,  one  child 
volunteered  his  impressions  of  the  works  of  the  two  painters 
in  some  such  words  as  these :  ' '  Millet 's  people  look  like 
real  working  people,  and  Breton's  look  like  city  folks 
dressed  up  to  look  like  people  who  worked  in  the  field." 
How  true  was  that  remark!  Here  certainly  was  a  fine 
opportunity  to  give  this  class  some  of  the  facts  of  the  lives 
of  these  two  painters. 

Rosa  Bonheur,  who  was  the  lover  and  painter  of  animals, 
is  a  favorite  with  the  children.  Her  pictures,  too,  are 
stories  of  animals.  What  small  boy  has  not  wished  for  a 
horse  like  the  Noble  Charger? 

Of  the  American  artists,  our  children  should  know  some- 
thing of  the  work  of  Whistler  and  Sargent. 

This  list  of  artists  is   merely   suggestive.     There  are 


18-2  STOBY-TELLJNG 

many  more  who  contributed  much  to  the  world  of  art. 
The  most  familiar,  and  those  whose  subjects  would  appeal 
most  to  the  childish  mind,  have  determined  the  selection. 
Lack  of  space  forbade  considering  these  artists  and  their 
work  more  at  length.  The  many  little  incidents  which  may 
be  told  about  their  lives  should  not  be  omitted  when  these 
artists  are  presented  to  the  children.  For  example,  take 
the  story  that  is  told  of  Landseer  when  he  was  presented 
to  the  King  of  Portugal.  The  King  said,  "  Mr.  Landseer, 
I  am  delighted  to  make  your  acquaintance.  I  am  so  fond 
of  beasts/'  If  the  children  forget  Landseer  for  a  time, 
this  incident  will  recall  him  to  their  memories.  Miss  Amy 
Foote,  of  the  State  Teachers'  College  of  Colorado,  has 
made  picture  study  very  attractive  for  her  group  of  sixth 
grade  children  by  using  the  following  plan.  In  order  to 
gain  the  interest  of  the  children,  several  pictures  by  the 
same  artist  were  shown  them  and  then  a  little  bit  of  the  life 
of  the  artist,  or  some  of  his  characteristics  were  given  in 
an  attractive  manner.  These  pictures  were  placed  where 
the  children  could  see  them,  and  others  by  the  same  artist, 
every  day  or  two.  The  children  began  to  ask  questions 
and  became  very  much  interested  in  both  the  painter  and 
the  pictures.  Gradually  some  of  the  technique  of  the  work 
was  considered  —  unity,  balance,  rhythmical  lines,  and 
atmosphere.  These  technical  matters  were  not  given  to  the 
children  all  at  once.  Unity  was  introduced  to  the  class  in 
the  picture,  The  Return  to  the  Farm,  by  Tryon,  in  the 
following  manner:  "  Which  cow  do  you  think  Troyon 
liked  best?  Why?  "  The  pupils  agreed  upon  the  white 


STORIES  AND  PICTURE  STUDY  183 

cow,  but  the  second  question  brought  forth  a  variety  of 
answers,  the  majority  of  which  contributed  something 
worth  while  to  the  subject  under  discussion.  Then  the 
teacher  showed  how  every  picture  had  its  center  of  interest 
—  a  unit  toward  which  all  other  figures  and  lines  in  the 
picture  pointed.  "  Men  like  Millet  and  Corot,"  she  said, 
' '  did  not  have  any  great  difficulty  in  arranging  the  figures 
and  lines  in  their  pictures.  But  those  men  who  were  court 
painters  like  Van  Dyck,  who  painted  the  children  of  King 
Charles  and  many  other  royal  groups,  had  difficulty.  I 
wonder  why?  Immediately  several  hands  went  up,  and 
one  small  boy  answered  excitedly,  "  Because  they'd  all 
wanted  to  be  the  unity." 

Some  of  Millet's  pictures  show  balance  very  effectively. 
For  instance,  cover  up  the  small  figure  of  the  horse  and 
rider  in  the  background  on  the  right-hand  side  in  The 
Gleaners,  by  Millet.  Show  the  picture  to  the  class.  Deter- 
mine whether  or  not  they  feel  that  something  is  gone. 
The  same  may  be  done  with  The  Woman  Churning.  Cover 
the  doorway  and  the  chicken  entering  the  house.  Here 
you  can  also  introduce  atmosphere.  The  glimpse  that  you 
caught  through  the  door  gave  distance  to  the  picture,  thus 
creating  a  third  dimension.  Draw  from  the  children  the 
various  ways  of  showing  atmosphere,  such  as  the  employ- 
ment of  light  and  shade,  more  detail,  and  the  use  of  sub- 
dued landscapes  and  figures  appearing  in  the  background. 

The  children  in  this  grade  finally  asked  how  they  might 
get  copies  of  pictures  for  themselves.  They  were  delighted 
when  they  found  out  that  very  good  copies  could  be  had 


184  STOEY-TELLING 

for  a  cent  apiece.  Each  one  asked  for  a  Perry  Picture 
Catalogue.  They  then  decided  to  take  up  the  artists  accord- 
ing to  Nationality,  beginning  with  the  Italian  Masters. 
Then  they  began  to  look  for  contemporaries  in  other  coun- 
tries. So  the  class  really  planned  the  work  themselves. 
However,  they  were  fortunate  in  having  very  efficient 
directing.  Each  child  sent  for  the  three  or  four  pictures 
which  he  liked  best.  Finally  each  one  made  a  collection 
of  his  favorite  pictures.  The  plan  of  studying  two  or  three 
pictures  of  an  artist  carefully  and  placing  numerous  others 
where  the  child  could  see  them  was  continued  throughout 
the  year,  and  whenever  the  picture  represented  a  legend  or 
had  some  interesting  bit  of  story  connected  with  it,  that  was 
given  to  the  children  in  narrative  form.  The  year's  work 
proved  very  profitable  and  also  developed  a  new  interest 
for  the  children. 

The  pictures  which  illustrate  a  story  would  naturally  be 
the  first  ones  used  in  the  story  hour.  The  picture  read- 
ing which  is  so  apt  to  be  abused  should  be  used  with  care. 
If  the  whole  story  which  the  teacher  extracts  laboriously 
from  the  child  by  means  of  questions  is  fictitious,  tiie  child 
will  not  remember  that  teacher  very  kindly.  However,  if 
a  picture  suggests  something  to  the  child,  and  he  has  spon- 
taneously given  his  own  interpretation,  why  not  allow  his 
imagination  some  freedom?  One  person  may  see  much 
more  in  a  picture  than  another.  We  could  not  really  say 
that  the  little  girl  in  Age  of  Innocence  is  looking  into  fairy- 
land, nor  can  we  say  positively  that  she  is  not;  and  if 
those  childish  eyes  see  fairyland,  why  not  leave  them  both 


STORIES  AND  PICTUEE  STUDY  185 

in  fairyland?  If  the  child  has  a  rude  awakening  some 
day,  still  she  will  never  regret  the  days  she  and  Reynolds' 
picture-child  spent  in  the  land  of  fairies. 

Miss  Estelle  Hurll  in  her  delightful  little  book  entitled 
' '  How  to  Show  Pictures  to  Children, ' '  tells  us  of  the  use  of 
picture  posing.  This  is  well  worth  a  trial  in  any  school- 
room. 

A  list  of  pictures  which  may  be  used  purely  as  illus- 
trative material  in  the  story  hour  is  appended : 

1.  Leonardo  da  Vinci. 

The  Last  Supper. 

2.  Titian. 

The  Tribute  Money. 
Saint  Christopher. 

3.  Raphael. 

School  of  Athens. 

Saint  Peter  in  Prison. 

Saint  Catherine. 

Saint  Cecilia. 

Sistine  Madonna. 

(Stories  of  Saint  Barbara  and  Saint  Sixtus 
may  be  used  with  this  picture.) 

The  Transfiguration. 

Madonna  of  the  Chair. 

i 

4.  Correggio. 

Holy  Night. 

Repose  In  Egypt. 

Marriage  of  Saint  Catherine. 

5.  Gvido  Reni. 

Saint  Michael  and  the  Dragon. 
Aurora. 

»>.  Rubens. 

Descent  from  the  Cross. 


186  STORY-TELLING 

7.  Van  Dyck. 

Portrait  of  Charles  I. 
Children  of  Charles  I. 
Baby  Stuart. 

8.  Velasquez. 

Prince  Balthazar. 
Portrait  of  Aesop. 

9.  Murillo. 

Saint  Anthony  of  Padua. 
Christ  Feeding  the  Multitude. 
Saint  John  and  the  Lamb. 
Saint  Francis  of  Assisi. 

10.  Rembrandt. 

Christ  Blessing  the  Little  Children. 
Sacrifice  of  Abraham. 

11.  Reynolds. 

Angel  Heads. 

The  Infant  Samuel. 

12.  Turner. 

Dido  Building  Carthage. 
Ulysses  Deriding  Polyphemus. 

13.  Millet. 

The  Angelus. 


CHRIST  IN  THE  TEMPLE 

Hoffman  has  painted  a  wonderful  picture  called,  "  Christ 
Among  the  Doctors. ' ' 

The  Jewish  law  required  that  every  man  attend  three 
feasts  a  year  in  Jerusalem :  Passover,  Pentecost,  and  Tab- 
ernacles. Now  when  Jesus  was  twelve  years  old  he  went 
with  his  parents,  Mary  and  Joseph,  to  Jerusalem  to  the 
Feast  of  the  Passover.  The  feast,  as  you  douhtless  know, 


STORIES  AND  PICTUEE  STUDY  187 

was  always  kept  in  memory  of  the  time  when  Pharaoh 
would  not  allow  the  Children  of  Israel  to  leave  Egypt,  and 
God  sent  the  Angel  of  Death  to  take  the  eldest  born  in 
the  homes  of  all  the  Egyptians.  The  angel  passed  over 
the  homes  of  the  Israelites,  which  were  marked  with  a 
cross  of  the  blood  of  a  lamb.  Very  likely  Jesus  had  gone 
to  Jerusalem  with  his  parents  before,  but  this  was  a 
notable  journey,  for  in  the  eyes  of  the  Jewish  Law  he 
ceased  to  be  a  child  at  the  age  of  twelve  and  became  sub- 
ject to  the  law. 

When  the  seven  days  of  feasting  were  over,  the  people 
started  homeward.  Mary  could  not  find  her  son ;  but  since 
there  were  a  great  many  people  from  Nazareth,  she  and 
Joseph  supposed  that  he  was  with  some  of  their  kinsmen  or 
friends.  They  usually  started  home  at  night  to  avoid  the 
heat  of  the  day ;  so  it  would  be  doubly  hard  to  find  anyone 
in  the  caravan.  The  next  day  Mary  searched  among  her 
friends  and  relatives,  and  not  finding  Jesus  with  them,  she 
and  Joseph  turned  back  to  Jerusalem  to  look  for  him. 
They  searched  everywhere,  and  finally  on  the  third  day 
found  him  in  the  Temple  listening  to  the  teachings  of  the 
rabbis  and  doctors.  He  not  only  listened  but  asked  ques- 
tions also.  His  questions  showed  marvelous  understanding, 
and  the  learned  doctors  were  very  much  surprised.  Here, 
indeed,  was  a  most  unusual  child. 

This  is  the  incident  which  Hoffman  takes  for  his  great 
painting.  Notice  the  earnest  expression  upon  the  face  of 
the  boy ;  how  he  is  looking  straight  into  the  eyes  of  the  old 
rabbi  who  is  evidently  expounding  passages  of  the  law. 


188  STORY-TELLING 

We  can  imagine  that  he  has  just  asked  a  question  concern- 
ing a  passage  of  the  scripture,  for  his  left  hand  is  point- 
ing to  the  book,  which  is  open  in  the  lap  of  the  rabbi. 
Perhaps  the  rabbi  to  the  right  of  the  one  seated  is  explain- 
ing a  passage,  for  he  holds  his  hand  as  tho  expounding  the 
scriptures.  The  old  rabbi  leaning  upon  his  staff  looks  with 
admiration  upon  the  youth,  while  the  one  leaning  upon 
the  table  looks  rather  sceptically  upon  him,  as  though  he 
wondered  whether  or  not  it  was  well  for  one  of  his  years 
to  be  so  wise  in  his  understanding  of  the  Holy  Books. 

Upon  such  a  scene  as  this  Mary  enters,  and  perhaps 
being  tired  and  worried,  she  asks  her  son,  "  Why  hast 
thou  thus  dealt  with  us?  "  And  he  answers  her,  "  How 
is  it  that  ye  sought  me  ?  Wist  ye  not  that  I  must  be  about 
my  Father's  business?  "  What  more  natural  than  that 
finding  himself  alone  in  Jerusalem  he  should  go  to  the 
Temple,  which  was  God  His  Father 's  house  ?  We  are  told 
that  he  then  returned  home  with  them  and  was  subject  to 
them,  growing  in  stature  and  in  the  knowledge  of  the  Lord. 

— Nellie  Margaret  Statler. 

THE  STORY  OF  SAINT  CHRISTOPHER* 

Once  upon  a  time,  a  long  time  ago,  beyond  the  seas, 
there  lived  a  boy  named  Christopher.  As  he  grew  up  he 
was  unusually  strong  and  giant-like.  He  drove  the  cattle 
to  field  and  lived  in  the  mountains  and  on  the  plans.  Being 

*  Reprinted  by  permission  of  the  Storyteller's  Magazine,  and 
Mr.  R.  T.  Wyche  from  the  Storytellers1  Magazine,  July,  1913. 


STOEIES  AND  PICTUKE  STUDY  189 

alone  much  of  his  time,  he  had  little  opportunity  for  play 
or  sport  with  other  children ;  and  when  he  came  home,  his 
parents  did  not  play  with  him  or  entertain  him,  and  so 
he  sought  recreation  where  he  could  find  it  in  other  places. 
He  was  full  of  energy,  and  his  parents  frequently  scolded 
him.  This  drove  him  off  to  himself  in  bad  moods.  On  one 
occasion  he  tied  the  cows'  tails  together,  just  to  hear  them 
bellow.  On  another  occasion  he  set  fire  to  a  forest,  all  in 
sport,  because  he  had  no  one  to  join  him  in  better  things. 
His  stepmother  scolded  him  and  punished  him  so  that  he 
would  frequently  go  away  alone  or  join  bad  companions  in 
mischief.  Finally,  one  day,  quarreling  with  a  mail,  he 
killed  him,  because  of  his  greater  strength. 

Fearing  to  return  home,  he  wandered  in  strange  lands, 
sometimes  working  for  his  living,  and  sometimes  living 
on  what  was  given  him.  Wherever  he  went  people  admired 
his  broad  shoulders  and  manly  form,  for  he  was  giant-like 
in  size. 

One  day  he  heard  of  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  who  was 
king  and  the  mightiest  man  in  all  the  world.  As  Chris- 
topher admired  and  worshiped  strength,  he  wanted  to  see 
and  to  serve  the  Emperor.  At  last,  after  long  journeys, 
he  came  and  stood  before  the  German  Emperor  and  offered 
his  services.  The  Emperor  was  at  that  time  waging  wars 
for  his  kingdom,  and  when  he  saw  Christopher,  giant-like 
and  strong,  he  admired  him  and  readily  accepted  his  serv- 
ices, taking  him  along  as  a  body  guard.  Christopher 
was  delighted,  and  threw  his  whole  strength  into  the  service 
of  the  Emperor,  and  did  many  wonderful  deeds. 


STORY-TELLING 

,  So  strong  was  Christopher  that  frequently  he  would  bear 
on  his  shoulders  great  logs,  and  place  them  across  gullies 
and  ravines,  to  build  a  bridge  for  the  army  to  pass  over. 
The  Emperor  frequently  talked  with  him  and  encouraged 
him,  all  of  which  immensely  pleased  Christopher,  for  he 
thought,  "  I  have  at  last  found  him  who  is  most  worthy 
of  worship  and  service." 

But  on  one  occasion  as  the  Emperor  was  riding  near  a 
forest,  Christopher  noticed  that  the  Emperor  made  the  sign 
of  the  cross  and  turned  aside  from  the  dark  forest  and  went 
in  another  direction.  Christopher  said  to  the  Emperor, 
"  Why  did  you  turn  back  from  the  forest?  " 

The  Emperor  said,  ' '  The  devil  lives  in  that  forest,  and  I 
fear  him. ' ' 

"  What,  "  said  Christopher,  "  afraid?  I  thought  that 
you  were  afraid  of  nothing!  " 

But  the  Emperor  said,  ' '  This  demon  of  darkness  is  very 
strong,  and  I  fear  him. ' ' 

Then  Christopher  said,  ' '  If  you  are  afraid,  I  wish  to 
leave  your  service  and  join  myself  to  the  devil;  because 
I  do  not  want  to  serve  any  but  the  strongest. ' '  Whereupon 
the  Emperor  paid  Christopher  his  wages  and  reluctantly 
parted  with  him. 

Christopher  turned  his  face  toward  the  dark  forest, 
plunged  into  its  depths,  and  finally  found  a  black  altar, 
whereon  the  devil  had  sacrified  the  bodies  of  people.  Hard 
by  he  found  the  devil  and  offered  his  services  to  him. 
Right  gladly  the  devil  took  him  into  his  fellowship,  and 
straightway  took  him  out  upon  his  forays  of  deviltry  and 


STORIES  AND  PICTURE  STUDY  191 

mischief.  But  one  day  they  came  along  by  a  hill  in  an 
Eastern  land.  On  the  top  of  the  hill  there  stood  three 
crosses.  The  devil  turned  aside  as  if  in  fear.  Christopher 
was  quick  to  notice  this.  He  said  to  the  devil,  "  Why 
are  you  afraid?  " 

Then  the  devil  said,  "  On  that  middle  cross  was  cruci- 
fied a  man  who  is  greater  than  I,  and  I  fear  him." 

"  What,"  Christopher  said,  "  you  afraid?  Why,  then, 
I  am  done  with  you;  I  want  to  serve  him  who  is  not 
afraid." 

And  so  he  parted  from  the  devil ;  and  as  he  went  away, 
the  devil  laughed  and  mocked  him.  Christopher  wan- 
dered a  long  time,  inquiring  here  and  there  for  the  man 
who  had  died  upon  the  cross.  Finally,  one  day  he  found 
a  priest,  who  lived  in  a  cave  that  opened  upon  a  beauti- 
ful river.  Tired,  footsore,  and  weary,  he  sat ;  down  at 
the  invitation  of  the  priest,  who  brought  him  refreshing 
water  from  the  spring  and  gave  him  food.  After  he  had 
rested  a  moment,  he  said  to  the  priest,  "  Can  you  tell 
me  about  the  man  who  died  on  the  cross?  "  for  Chris- 
topher had  never  heard  of  this  man  until  the  devil  had 
told  him. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  priest,  "  right  gladly  will  I  tell  you 
the  story  of  his  life." 

Then  the  priest  told  Christopher  how  the  man  of  Gal- 
ilee had  lived,  and  toiled,  and  suffered  to  make  the  world 
better,  and  how  he  had  been  crucified,  dead,  and  had 
risen  again.  The  story  was  a  new  and  beautiful  one  to 
Christopher.  The  wonder  of  it !  The  priest  told  him  that 


192  STORY-TELLING 

though  this  man  was  dead,  his  spirit  was  still  in  the 
world  to  make  the  world  better.  Then  Christopher  said 
to  the  priest,  "  He  is  the  one  that  I  wish  to  serve.  How 
can  I  serve  him?  "  Then  the  priest  said,  "  You  see  this 
river?  There  is  no  bridge  for  the  people  to  cross;  it  is 
wide  and  at  times  dangerous.  If  you  would  serve  him, 
help  those  who  try  to  cross  the  river.  You  are  tall,  with 
broad  shoulders  and  mighty  strength.  Day  after  day 
people  as  they  travel  through  this  land  come  to  this 
river,  but  cannot  cross.  You  can  help  them  across,  and 
in  that  way  you  will  serve  him  who,  though  dead,  still 
lives." 

That  pleased  Christopher  so  much  that  he  built  a  house 
of  logs  and  boughs  by  the  river's  side,  and  when  people 
came  to  the  river  he  would  wade  through  the  water, 
take  them  on  his  shoulders  and  bear  them  across.  Years 
passed  by;  Christopher  grew  gray  in  the  service  of 
humanity  and  his  Master.  Those  who  saw  him  day  after 
day  admired  him  and  looked  for  him,  and  he  became  a 
friend  of  all  the  country,  loved  by  all. 

One  dark  night  when  Christopher  lay  upon  his  bed, 
he  heard  someone  calling,  like  the  voice  of  a  child,  "  Oh, 
Christopher,  kind,  good  Christopher,  come  and  help  me 
across!  " 

Christopher  arose  from  his  bed  and  seizing  his  great 
staff,  waded  through  the  water  until  he  reached  the  other 
side  of  the  river;  but  there  he  found  no  one;  all  Avas 
silent  save  the  ripple  and  murmur  of  the  waves  along 


STOEIES  AND  PICTURE  STUDY  193 

the  river's"  margin.     "  Strange,"  he  said,  "  I  thought  1 
heard  some  one  calling." 

.  After  looking  all  around,  he  said:  "  I  must  have  been 
mistaken,"  and  waded  back  through  the  water  to  the 
other  side  of  the  river  and  lay  down  upon  his  couch  again. 
But  soon  thereafter  he  heard  the  same  voice  calling: 
"  Oh,  Christopher,  kind,  good  Christopher,  come  and  help 
me  across!  " 

"  Strange,"  said  Christopher  to  himself,  "  some  one 
must  be  there."  And  seizing  his  staff  he  again  crossed 
the  river. 

But  no  one  could  he  find ;  all  was  silent.  Above  his  head 
the  stars  shone  and  he  said  to  himself,  "  Strange  it  is 
that  I  cannot  find  him  who  called  me." 

He  went  across  the  river  and  lay  down  upon  his  bed 
again.  He  had  not  been  lying  there  long  before  he  heard 
the  voice  calling  him  a  third  time:  "  Oh!  Christopher, 
kind,  good  Christopher,  come  and  help  me  across!  " 

Christopher  sat  upon  his  bed  —  he  was  troubled. 
"  Strange,"  he  said,  "  some  one  calls  me,  and  yet  I  cannot 
find  him."  But  again  seizing  his  staff,  he  said:  "  I 
will  make  one  more  trip."  When  he  reached  the  other 
side  of  the  river,  there  he  saw  a  little  boy,  and  he  said, 
"  My  little  man,  where  were  you?  Twice  I  crossed  the 
river  to  find  you." 

The  little  boy  said,  "  I  was  here." 

And  then  Christopher  bent  low  and  took  the  little  man 
upon  his  shoulders  and  waded  through  the  water,  but  the 


194  STOEY-TELLING 

boy  grew  heavier  until  he  seemed  as  heavy  as  a  man. 
When  Christopher  reached  the  other  side  and  put  him 
down,  and  turned  to  look  to  see  why  what  seemed  to  be 
a  little  child  should  be  so  heavy  —  lo !  he  was  more  than 
a  child.  There  stood  in  his  presence  a  man  young  in 
appearance,  with  a  shining  face,  and  he  said  to  Chris- 
topher, "  I  am  he  whom  you  serve;  bury  your  staff,  and 
after  a  certain  number  of  days  buds  will  appear  thereon." 
Then  he  disappeared,  vanishing  as  a  mist,  or  as  a  shadow, 
though  Christopher  saw  not.  He  went  and  lay  down  upon 
his  couch  and  slept  in  great  peace  of  mind  and  body. 

Years  passed.  Christopher  was  still  beloved  by  all  the 
people  and  faithful  to  his  work,  but  his  days  were  num- 
bered. Though  somewhat  feeble,  he  still  bore  the  people 
on  his  shoulders  across  the  river.  One  dark,  stormy  night, 
when  the  wind  roared  through  the  tree  tops,  and  the  rain 
fell,  Christopher,  lying  upon  his  bed,  heard  a  voice  call. 
He  tried  to  rise  and  answer ;  he  did  go  in  response  to  the 
voice,  but  it  was  his  spirit  only  that  went;  the  last  call 
had  come  to  him. 

The  next  morning  the  storm  was  gone  and  the  sky  was 
blue.  People  came  to  cross  the  river  and  called  as  usual  to 
Christopher,  but  there  was  no  response.  They  thought 
perhaps  he  was  asleep  and  went  to  the  cottage.  There 
they  found  him  —  asleep,  but  it  was  the  long  sleep.  And 
a  smile  was  on  his  face.  Because  of  his  service  to  the 
people  they  afterwards  called  him  Saint  Christopher. 

— Richard  Thomas  Wyche. 


While  the  activities  of  Boy  Scouts  and  Campfire  Girls 
are  quite  largely  physical  and  in  the  open,  there  is  a 
place  for  stories,  and  there  are  many  stories  exactly  suited 
to  their  needs.  When  groups  of  boys  and  girls  are  in 
camp,  there  is  a  natural  story-hour  around  the  fire  after 
supper.  And  even  at  home  while  the  scouts  and  girls 
are  getting  their  training,  stories  form  one  of  the  most 
impressive  means  of  emphasizing  the  lessons  of  these 
organizations.  There  are  stories  especially  suited  to 
impress  the  points  of  the  Scout  Law,  and  others  applic- 
able to  the  Law  of  the  Campfire.  Where  Sunday  after- 
noon meetings  of  these  organizations  are  held,  frequently 
the  first  part  of  the  afternoon  is  given  over  to  segre- 
gated meetings  of  the  two  groups,  but  the  last  half  hour 
is  devoted  to  a  joint  meeting  of  both  boys  and  girls. 
The  oral  story  is  the  best  means  of  entertaining  and 
instructing  in  such  a  meeting  of  the  two  groups.  Suitable 
stories  may  be  found  in  abundance  for  this  story-hour. 

What  immediately  follows  is  a  statement  of  the  points 
in  the  Scout  Law,  with  the  titles  of  some  stories  which 
may  be  told  in  the  evening  gatherings  of  the  Scouts  while 
they  are  being  instructed  in  the  law.  While  only  a  story 

195 


196  STOEY-TELLING 

or  two  is  mentioned  here,  the  titles  will  suggest  tae  type 
that  is  suitable  for  such  groups.  The  Scout  Master  will 
have  no  trouble  in  finding  other  stories  to  impress  each 
point  in  the  law. 

THE  SCOUT  LAW 

1.  A  Scout  Is  Trustworthy. 

"  The  Knights  of  the  Silver  Shield," 

by  Raymond  McDonald  Alden,  in  "  Why  the  Chimes 

Rang." 
"  The  Story  of  a  Forest  Fire," 

by  Raymond  S.  Spears. 

2.  A  Scout  Is  Loyal. 

"  The  Ride  of  Paul  Revere," 

by  Emelyn  Newcomb  Partridge  and  George  Everett 
Partridge,  in  ' '  Story  Telling  in  Home  and  School. ' ' 

"  Saint  Martin," 

by  Amy  Steedman,  in"  In  God's  Garden." 

3.  A  Scout  Is  Helpful. 

"  The  Happy  Prince," 
by  Oscar  Wilde. 

4.  A  Scout  Is  Friendly. 

"  The  Selfish  Giant," 

by  Oscar  Wilde. 
"A  Christmas  Carol," 

by  Charles  Dickens. 


197 

5.  A  Scout  Is  Courteous. 

"  Hans  and  the  Wonderful  Flower," 

adapted  by  Carolyn  S.  Bailey,  in  "  For  the  Chil- 
dren's Hour." 

"  The  Miracle  of  Love," 

by  lola  Gertrude  Waller,  in  the  Storytellers'  Mag- 
azine, November,  1913. 

"  The  Legend  of  the  Dipper," 

adapted  by  Carolyn  S.  Bailey,  in  "  For  the  Chil- 
dren's Hour." 

6.  A  Scout  Is  Kind. 

"  The  Wheat  Field," 

by  Laura  E.  Richards,  in  ' '  The  Golden  Windows. ' ' 
"  The  King  of  the  Golden  River," 

by  John  Ruskin. 

7.  A  Scout  Is  Obedient. 

"  Christ  Among  the  Doctors," 

from  "  The  New  Testament." 
"  The  Christmas  Thorn  of  Glastonbury, " 

by  Frances  Jenkins  Olcott,  in  "  Good  Stories  for 

Great  Holidays." 

8.  A  Scout  Is  Cheerful. 

"  The  Flower  Magician," 

by  Mary  H.  Wade,  in  "  The  Wonder  Workers." 
"  Old  Pipes  and  the  Dryad," 

by  Franklin  R.  Stockton. 


198  STOEY-TELLING 

9.  A  Scout  Is  Thrifty. 

"  The  Ears  of  Wheat," 

The    Brothers    Grimm,    in    "  German    Household 
Tales." 

10.  A  Scout  Is  Brave. 

"  The  Little  Hero  of  Harlem," 

by  Sara  Cone  Bryant,  in  "  Best  Stories  to  Tell  to 

Children." 
"  Two  Hero  Stories  of  the  Civil  War," 

by  Ben  La  Bree,  adapted  by  Frances  J.  Olc&tt,  in 

"  Good  Stories  for  Great  Holidays." 

11.  A  Scout  Is  Clean. 

"  The  Choice  of  Hercules," 

by  Xenophon,  adapted  by  Frances  J.  Olcott,  in 
"  Good  Stories  for  Great  Holidays." 

12.  A  Scout  Is  Reverent. 

"  The  Boy  Abraham," 

by  E.  N.  and  G.  E.  Partridge,  in  "  Story  Telling 
in  Home  and  School." 
"  The  Master  of  the  Harvest," 
by  Margaret  Gatty,  in  ' '  Parables  from  Nature. ' ' 

The  following  stories  may  be  used  in  a  similar  way  to 
impress  the  points  in  the  Law  of  the  Campfire : 

THE  LAW  OF  THE  CAMPFIRE 
1.  Seek  Beauty. 

"  The  Great  Stone  Face," 

by  Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  adapted  by  Carolyn  8. 
Bailey,  in  "  For  the  Story  Teller." 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIRE  GIRLS  199 

"  The  Minstrel's  Song," 

by  Maud  Lindsay,  in  "  Mother  Stories." 
"  The  Hunt  for  the  Beautiful," 

by  Raymond  McDonald  Alden,  in  "  Why  the  Chimes 

Rang." 

2.  Give  Service. 

"  "Where  Love  Is,  There  God  Is  Also," 

by  Count  Lyof  N.  Tolstoy. 
11  The  Mansion," 

by  Henry  Van  Dyke,  in  "  The  Blue  Flower." 

3.  Pursue  Knowledge. 

"  Giant  Energy  and  Fairy  Skill," 

by  Maud  Lindsay,  in  "  Mother  Stories." 
' '  The  Boy  who  Discovered  the  Spring, ' ' 

by  Raymond  McDonald  Alden,  in  "  "Why  the  Chimes 

Rang." 
"  From  a  Far  Country," 

by  Laura  E.  Richards,  in  ' '  The  Golden  Windows. ' ' 

4.  Be  Trustworthy. 

"  The  Bamboo  Cutter's  Daughter," 

by  Teresa  Peirce  Williston,  in  "  Japanese  Fairy 

Tales. ' '    Second  series. 
"  The  Wedding  Guests," 

by  Laura  E.  Richards,  in  "  The  Golden  Windows." 

5.  Hold  on  to  Health. 

"  Florence  Nightingale," 
by  Laura  E.  Richards. 


200  STOEY-TELLING 

6.  Glorify  Work. 

"  The  Star  Child/' 

by  Oscar  Wilde,  in  "  The  Happy  Prince  and  Other 

Fairy  Tales." 
"  The  Vision  of  Anton  the  Clockmaker, " 

by  Walter  A.  Dyer. 

7.  Be  Happy. 

' '  Merry  Twinkle  and  the  Dwarf, ' ' 

by  Allen  Cross. 
"  The  Bluebird," 

retold  by  Georgene  Faulkner  in  the  Storytellers' 

Magazine,  March,  1915. 
"  The  Stone  Cutter," 

from  Andrew  Lang's  "  Crimson  Fairy  Book,"  in 

Edna  Ly man's  "  Story  Telling,  What  to  Tell  and 

How  to  Tell  It." 

Other  ethical  stories  which  have  been  used  to  impress  a 
lesson  or  to  hold  up  an  ideal  are  indicated  below : 

1.  To  teach  harmony  in  work: 

"  The  Ship  that  Found  Herself," 

by  Rudyard  Kipling. 
"  The  Palace  Made  by  Music," 

by  Raymond  McDonald  Alden,  in  "  Why  the  Chimes 

Rang." 

2.  To  teach  the  value  of  keeping  the  door  of  your  heart 

open: 

"  The  Closing  Door," 
by  Maud  Lindsay. 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIEE  GIRLS  201 

"  The  Apron  String," 

by  Laura  E.  Richards,  in  "  The  Golden  Windows." 
"  The  Lost  Word," 

by  Henry  Van  Dyke,  in  "  The  Blue  Flower.  " 

One  of  the  pleasantest  and  most  instructive  series  of 
stories  which  may  be  given  to  these  two  groups  of  chil- 
dren together  is  the  Holy  Grail  Series.  Most  of  the 
children  know  something  about  King  Arthur  and  his 
Round  Table.  Beginning  with  their  knowledge  of  these 
legends,  a  story-teller  may  arouse  an  interest  in  a  closer 
study  of  the  Story  of  the  Grail  by  using  some  such 
series  of  stories  as  the  following  : 

1.  A  short  history  of  the  Grail  and  its  meaning. 

2.  The  Christmas  Thorn  of  Glastonbury. 

3.  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal.     James  Russell  Lowell. 
(Adapted.) 

4.  The  Holy  Grail.     Alfred  Tennyson,  in  "  Idylls  of 
the  King." 

5.  The  Story  of  Lohengrin,  in  "  Stories  of  Great  Musi- 
cians," by  Scobey  and  Home. 

.  6.  The  Story  of  Parsifal.     "  Wagner  Opera  Stories," 
by  Grace  E.  Barber. 

If  possible  use  some  of  Wagner's  opera  music  with 
these  last  two  stories.  Close  this  cycle  with  an  exhibition 
of  copies  of  the  pictures  of  "  The  Quest  of  the  Holy 
Grail,"  by  Abbey,  which  form  the  famous  mural  frieze 
in  the  Boston  Public  Library.  Curtis  and  Cameron  pub- 

LIBBARY 


P  TEACHER'S  0   I 

C  A       T  A      D  A  or.  .   . 


202  STORY-TELLING 

lish  an  interpretation  of  these  pictures  by  Ferris  Greens- 
let.    The  volume  contains  copies  of  the  pictures  also. 

THE  PICTURES  INTERPRETED 

I.  The  first  picture  is  The  Vision  of  the  Grail,  which 
depicts  the  nun,  with  whom  Galahad  as  an  infant  has 
been  placed,  kneeling  while  she  holds  the  infant  from  her 
so  that  he  may  see  the  vision  of  the  angel  holding  the 
covered  grail.  A  white  dove  hovers  above  the  angel 
holding  in  its  beak  a  golden  censer.  The  child  is  holding 
his  hands  toward  the  grail. 

II.  The  Oath  of  Knighthood. 

Galahad  has  just  finished  his  night 's  vigil  in  the  chapel, 
and  now  at  daybreak  the  nuns  have  brought  to  him  two  of 
the  bravest  knights  of  King  Arthur's  Round  Table,  Sir 
Launcelot  and  Sir  Bors,  who  kneel  and  buckle  his  spurs 
upon  his  feet,  while  Galahad  kneels  upon  a  higher  stair 
next  to  the  altar  and  takes  his  vow  of  knighthood. 

III.  The  Round  Table  of  King  Arthur. 

Here  Galahad  is  being  led  to  the  Round  Table  of  King 
Arthur  by  a  veiled  figure,  whom  we  may  suppose  to  be 
Joseph  of  Arimathea.  The  figure  leads  the  youth  to  the 
one  vacant  seat,  the  Siege  Perilous.  Above  hovers  the 
Angel  of  the  Grail,  and  round  about  is  the  angelic  host. 
Arthur,  the  King,  is  standing,  and  behind  the  throne 
crouches  the  jester. 

IV.  The  Departure. 

The  Knights  have  vowed  to  leave  King  Arthur's  court 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIRE  GIELS  203 

at  Camelot  and  go  out  into  the  world  to  seek  the  Holy 
Grail.  In  this  picture  we  see  the  knights  kneeling  to 
receive  the  blessing  of  the  holy  bishop. 

V.  The  Castle  of  the  Grail. 

Galahad  has  had  many  and  varied  experiences,  and  has 
finally  come  to  the  castle  of  the  Grail,  where  the  King 
Amfortas,  because  of  a  grievous  sin,  is  no  longer  per- 
mitted to  look  upon  the  Grail.  He  is  suffering  from  a 
wound  which  can  be  healed  only  by  the  sight  of  the 
Grail.  In  this  picture  we  see  Galahad  standing  beside 
the  couch  upon  which  King  Amfortas  lies.  There  is 
passing  before  Galahad's  eyes  a  procession  —  first  a 
maiden  carrying  the  Holy  Grail,  veiled;  then  a  second 
maiden  bearing  the  head  of  a  man,  on  a  charger;  then 
two  knights  carrying  high  above  their  heads  seven- 
branched  candlesticks,  and  last  of  all,  a  knight  with  a 
spear  dripping  blood  from  its  point.  Galahad  sees  but 
asks  no  questions;  for  he  remembers  the  advice  of  Gur- 
nemanz,  the  worldly  adviser  whom  he  had  met  in  his 
travels,  "  Think  much,  and  speak  little."  For  him  this 
course  is  unwise,  but  he  does  not  know  that  till  later. 

VI.  The  Loathly  Damsel. 

Here  we  see  the  damsel  who  takes  the  same  part  in 
this  story  as  Kundry,  the  temptress  of  Parsifal  in  the 
tale  of  that  name.  Galahad  has  left  the  Castle  of  the 
Grail,  not  realizing  his  weakness  of  the  night  before.  He 
has  dismounted  from  his  horse,  and  it  is  from  this  loathly 
damsel,  mounted  upon  a  yellow  mule,  bearing  the  crowned 
head  of  a  king  in  one  hand,  and  attended  by  a  mounted 


204  STORY-TELLING 

maiden  and  one  on  foot  who  carried  a  scourge  in  her 
hand,  that  Galahad  heard  with  curses  his  fault  of  the  night 
before,  and  how  he  might  have  healed  the  poor  king  by 
questioning  the  meaning  of  the  strange  procession  which 
he  had  been  permitted  to  view.  Galahad  kneels  in  sor- 
row as  the  damsel  and  her  escorts  pass  on. 

VII.  The  Seven  Sins. 

After  the  loathly  damsel  had  gone  her  way,  Galahad 
determined  to  right  some  wrong  in  the  world.  He  ad- 
vanced to  the  Castle  of  the  Maidens,  whose  virtuous 
inmates  are  held  prisoners  by  the  seven  deadly  sins. 
When  Galahad  attempted  to  enter  the  gate  of  the  outer 
wall,  he  was  met  by  the  seven  brothers,  who  deny  him 
entrance.  In  this  picture  we  see  our  guileless  youth  in 
the  act  of  conquering  the  seven  deadly  sins.  Notice  that 
he  has  only  four  more  to  subdue.  How  small  he  looks 
in  comparison  with  his  foes  and  what  a  difference  between 
his  sword  and  the  four  large  spears  which  are  pointed 
toward  him ! 

VIII.  The  Key  to  the  Castle. 

When  Galahad  has  passed  through  the  outer  wall  after 
his  encounter  with  the  Seven  Deadly  Sins,  he  meets  an 
old  man,  who  holds  out  to  him  the  key  to  the  castle. 
Galahad  kneels  with  bared  head,  showing  such  respect  for 
the  old  man  as  he  believes  is  due  him.  We  see  in  the 
picture  Galahad  with  helmet  cast  aside,  kneeling  to  the 
old  man  as  the  keeper  holds  out  the  key  to  him. 

IX.  The  Castle  of  the  Maidens. 

Galahad  takes  the  key  offered  to  him  by  the  old  keeper, 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIEE  GIRLS  205 

and  enters  the  castle,  where  he  is  received  joyously  by  the 
captives.  We  see  him  here,  doing  homage  to  each  one  of 
the  maidens,  as  becomes  a  gallant  knight.  He  has  cast  his 
faithful  sword,  shield,  and  helmet  upon  the  floor  and  is 
greeting  each  lady  in  turn. 

X.  Blanchefleur. 

Blanchefleur  is  the  maiden  whom  Gurnemanz  upon  his 
death  bed  had  made  Galahad  promise  to  marry,  but  on 
the  wedding  morning  Galahad  saw  again  the  vision  of 
the  Grail,  and  realized  with  that  vision  that  he  must 
either  give  up  Blanchefleur  or  the  hope  of  finding  the 
Grail.  After  a  struggle  with  his  soul  he  takes  leave  of 
his  bride  with  her  blessing  upon  him,  and  carrying  in 
his  hand  one  of  her  white  roses. 

XI.  The  Death  of  Amfortas. 

Galahad  returns  to  the  Castle  of  the  Grail  and  finds  the 
King,  Amfortas,  dying.  He  is  permitted  once  more  to  see 
the  strange  procession ;  and  this  time  he  turns  to  the  dying 
King  and  asks:  "  What  ails  thee,  0  King?  What  mean 
these  strange  things?  "  Then  they  behold  the  vision  of 
the  veiled  Grail.  Amfortas  tells  Galahad  the  meaning 
of  the  strange  things  which  he  has  seen,  of  his  sacred 
commission,  and  of  his  sin  and  punishment.  He  tells 
Galahad  how  he  has  waited  for  him,  Galahad  the  pure 
youth,  who  could  free  him  from  this  living  death.  Then, 
as  we  see  in  the  picture,  the  angel  descends  from  heaven, 
and  bears  away  the  Grail  and  with  it  the  soul  of  Amfortas. 

XII.  Galahad  the  Deliverer. 

Galahad  listens  to  the  strange  voice  which  has  been 


206  STOEY-TELLING 

directing  him,  and  once  more  obeys  its  command.  He 
makes  ready  to  go  on  a  journey  in  Solomon's  ship  to  a 
city  called  Sarras.  In  the  picture  we  see  our  hero  mounted 
upon  a  white  steed,  going  down  to  the  ship.  Many 
people  are  out  to  see  him  as  he  rides  by.  In  the  fore- 
ground kneels  a  woman,  whom  we  may  imagine  to  be  the 
loathly  damsel,  freed  from  her  loathsome  mission  in  life 
by  the  goodness  of  Galahad.  In  the  background  we  see 
the  ship  at  anchor  awaiting  its  royal  passenger. 

XIII.  Solomon's  Ship. 

Galahad  does  not  go  upon  this  journey  alone,  for  in  the 
ship  we  find  Sir  Percival  and  Sir  Bors,  who  have  decided 
to  cast  their  lot  with  Sir  Galahad.  In  the  prow  of  the 
ship  sits  the  Angel  of  the  Grail,  bearing  his  precious 
burden,  the  Holy  Grail,  veiled  in  white  samite. 

XIV.  The  City  of  Sarras. 

To  this  city  Solomon's  ship  bore  the  three  knights  with 
their  heavenly  companion.  Here  we  see  the  shield  and  the 
spear  of  Galahad  across  the  city  wall.  Towers  and  tur- 
rets rise  above  the  walls.  The  three  knights  did  many 
good  deeds  in  this  strange  city,  healing  the  sick  and 
ministering  unto  them.  The  king  of  Sarras  at  last  became 
angry  with  these  strange  sojourners,  and  so  cast  them 
into  prison.  Here  the  dove  which  so  often  appeared  with 
the  Grail,  ministered  unto  their  physical  needs,  and  the 
vision  of  the  Grail  unto  their  spiritual  wants.  Ere  long 
the  king  fell  ill.  He  pardoned  his  knightly  prisoners, 
hoping  that  they  might  cure  him.  They  were  not  able 
to  do  this;  but  the  monarch  died  in  peace,  happy  that 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIEE  GIELS  207 

these  good  men  had  pardoned  him  for  his  injustice  toward 

them.    Galahad  was  then  chosen  king  by  the  people  of 

Sarras. 

XV.  The  Golden  Tree. 

Galahad  ruled  in  Sarras  for  a  year  and  a  day.  Upon 
a  hill  near  the  castle  he  was  building  a  golden  tree. 
Every  morning  and  evening  he  went  up  to  the  hill  and 
prayed  and  added  more  gold  and  gems  to  the  tree.  At 
the  end  of  a  year  the  tree  was  complete.  The  next  day 
he  went  up  to  the  hill  to  worship.  Suddenly  there  appeared 
to  him  a  company  of  angels  and  with  them  Joseph  of 
Arimathea  in  a  white  robe,  holding  high  above  his  head 
the  Holy  Grail,  unveiled.  Galahad  fell  upon  his  knees  and 
cast  his  crown  and  sceptre  upon  the  ground.  We  see  him 
with  his  face  upturned  in  adoration  toward  the  Holy 
Grail.  The  angelic  host  stands  behind  the  golden  tree. 
Joseph  of  Arimathea  stands  in  front  of  the  tree,  and  the 
light  from  the  unveiled  Grail  throws  a  radiance  over 
the  whole  scene.  Legend  tells  us  that  Galahad  vanished 
from  the  earth,  and  a  hand  from  heaven  reached  down 
and  took  the  Holy  Grail,  and  that,  since  that  day,  neither 
Galahad  nor  the  Grail  has  ever  been  seen  upon  this  earth. 

WHERE  LOVE  Is,  THERE  GOD  Is  ALSO 

In  a  certain  city  dwelt  Martin  Avdyeeich,  the  cobbler. 
He  lived  in  a  cellar,  a  wretched  little  hole  with  a  single 
window.  The  window  looked  up  towards  the  street,  and 
through  it  Martin  could  just  see  the  passers-by.  While 


208  STOEY-TELLING 

Martin  was  still  a  journeyman  his  wife  had  died;  but 
his  wife  had  left  him  a  little  boy  —  Kapitoshka  —  three 
years  old.  No  sooner  had  the  little  one  begun  to  grow 
up  and  be  a  help  and  a  joy  to  his  father's  heart  than  a 
sickness  fell  upon  Kapitoshka.  The  little  one  took  to  his 
bed,  lay  there  in  a  raging  fever  for  a  week,  and  then 
died.  Martin  buried  his  son  in  despair  —  so  desperate 
was  he  that  he  began  to  murmur  again  God.  Such  disgust 
of  life  overcame  him  that  he  more  than  once  begged  God 
that  he  might  die ;  and  he  reproached  God  for  taking  not 
him,  an  old  man,  but  his  darling,  his  only  son,  instead. 
And  after  that  Avdyeeich  left  off  going  to  church. 

And,  lo!  one  day  there  came  to  Avdyeeich  an  aged 
peasant-pilgrim.  Avdyeeich  fell  a-talking  with  him,  and 
began  to  complain  of  his  great  sorrow.  "  As  for  living 
any  longer,  thou  man  of  God,"  said  he,  "  I  desire  it  not. 
Would  only  that  I  might  die!  That  is  my  sole  prayer  to 
God.  I  am  now  a  man  who  has  no  hope." 

And  the  old  man  said  to  him :  "  Thy  speech,  Martin,  is 
not  good.  How  shall  we  judge  the  doings  of  God?  God's 
judgments  are  not  our  thoughts.  It  is  because  thou 
wouldst  fain  have  lived  for  thy  own  delight  that  thou 
dost  now  despair." 

"  But  what  then  is  a  man  to  live  for?  "  asked  Avdy- 
eeieh. 

And  the  old  man  answered :    "  For  God,  Martin !  " 

Martin  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  said: 
"  And  how  must  one  live  for  God?  " 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIRE  GIRLS  209 

"  Buy  the  Gospels  and  read;  there  thou  wilt  find  out 
how  to  live  for  God. ' ' 

These  words  made  the  heart  of  Avdyeeich  burn  within 
him,  and  he  went  the  same  day  and  bought  for  himself 
a  New  Testament  printed  in  very  large  type,  and  began 
to  read. 

Avdyeeich  set  out  with  the  determination  to  read  it  only 
on  holidays ;  but  as  he  read,  it  did  his  heart  so  much  good 
that  he  took  to  reading  it  every  day.  And  the  second 
time  he  read  until  all  the  kerosene  in  the  lamp  had  burnt 
itself  out,  and  for  all  that,  he  could  not  tear  himself 
away  from  the  book.  And  so  it  was  every  evening.  And 
the  more  he  read,  the  more  clearly  he  understood  what 
God  wanted  of  him,  and  how  it  behooved  him  to  live  for 
God ;  and  his  heart  grew  lighter  and  lighter  continually. 

Henceforth  the  whole  life  of  Avdyeeich  was  changed. 
Formerly,  whenever  he  had  a  holiday,  he  would  go  to  the 
tavern  to  drink  tea,  nor  would  he  say  "  no  "  to  a  drop 
of  brandy  now  and  again.  He  had  done  with  all  that 
now.  His  life  became  quiet  and  joyful.  With  the  morn- 
ing light  he  sat  down  to  his  work,  worked  out  his  time, 
and  then  took  down  his  lamp  from  the  hook,  placed  it 
on  the  table,  took  down  his  book  from  the  shelf,  bent  over 
it,  and  sat  down  to  read. 

It  happened  once  that  Martin  was  up  reading  till  very 
late.  He  was  reading  St.  Luke's  Gospel.  And  he  read 
all  about  how  the  woman  who  was  a  sinner  anointed  His 
feet  and  washed  them  with  her  tears,  and  how  He  justified 


210  STOKY-TELLING 

her.  And  so  he  came  at  last  to  the  forty-fourth  verse, 
and  there  he  read  these  words,  "  And  He  turned  to  the 
woman  and  said  to  Simon,  '  Seest  thou  this  woman?  I 
entered  into  thine  house;  thou  gavest  Me  no  water  for 
My  feet ;  but  she  has  washed  My  feet  with  tears  and  wiped 
them  with  the  hairs  of  her  head.  Thou  gavest  Me  no 
kiss,  but  this  woman,  since  the  time  I  came  in,  hath  not 
ceased  to  kiss  My  feet.  Mine  head  with  oil  thou  didst 
not  anoint.'  "  Avdyeeich  took  off  his  glasses  and  laid 
them  on  the  book,  and  fell  a-thinking. 

"  So  it  is  quite  plain  that  I  too  have  something  of 
the  Pharisee  about  me.  Am  I  not  always  thinking  of 
myself?  Am  I  not  always  thinking  of  drinking  tea,  and 
keeping  myself  as  warm  and  cozy  as  possible,  without 
thinking  at  all  about  the  guest?  Simon  thought  about 
himself,  but  did  not  give  the  slightest  thought  to  his  guest. 
But  who  was  his  guest  ?  The  Lord  Himself.  And  suppose 
he  were  to  come  to  me,  should  I  treat  Him  as  the  Phariseo 
did?  " 

And  Avdyeeich  leaned  both  his  elbows  on  the  table, 
and,  without  perceiving  it,  fell  a-dozing. 

"  Martin!  "  —  it  was  as  the  voice  of  some  one  close  to 
his  ear. 

Martin  started  up  from  his  nap.    ' '  Who 's  there  ?  ' ' 

He  turned  round,  he  gazed  at  the  door,  but  there  was 
no  one.  Again  he  dozed  off.  Suddenly  he  heard  quite 
plainly,  "  Martin,  Martin,  I  say!  Look  to-morrow  into 
the  street.  I  am  coming." 

Martin  awoke,  rose  from  his  chair,  and  began  to  rub 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIBE  GIELS  211 

his  eyes.  He  turned  down  the  lamp  and  laid  him  down 
to  rest. 

At  dawn  next  day  Avdyeeich  arose,  prayed  to  God  and 
sat  him  down  by  his  window  to  work. 

Martin  sits  at  the  window  and  looks  as  much  at  his 
window  as  at  his  work;  and  whenever  a  strange  pair  of 
boots  passes  by,  he  bends  forward  and  looks  out  of  the 
window,  so  as  to  see  the  face  as  well  as  the  feet  Of  the 
passers-by.  There  passed  close  to  the  window  an  old 
soldier,  one  of  Nicholas'  veterans,  in  tattered  old  boots, 
with  a  shovel  in  his  hands.  Stepanuich  stopped  before 
Avdyeeich 's  window  to  sweep  away  the  snow.  Avdyeeich 
cast  a  glance  at  him,  and  then  went  on  working  as 
before. 

"I'm  not  growing  sager  as  I  grow  older,"  thought 
Avdyeeich,  with  some  self -contempt.  "  I  make  up  my 
mind  that  Christ  is  coming  to  me,  and,  lo!  'tis  only 
Stepanuich  clearing  away  the  snow. 

"  The  old  man  is  very  much  broken,"  thought  Avdy- 
eeich to  himself.  "  It  is  quite  plain  that  he  has  scarcely 
strength  enough  to  scrape  away  the  snow.  Suppose  I 
make  him  drink  a  little  tea!  Avdyeeich  put  down  his 
awl,  got  up,  placed  the  samovar  on  the  table,  put  some 
tea  in  it,  and  tapped  on  the  window  with  his  fingers. 
Avdyeeich  beckoned  to  him,  and  then  went  and  opened 
the  door. 

41  Come  in  and  warm  yourself  a  bit,"  cried  he.  "  You're 
a  bit  chilled,  eh?  " 


212  STORY-TELLING 

"  Christ  requite  you !  Yes,  and  all  my  bones  ache  too," 
said  Stepanuich. 

' '  Come  in  and  sit  down, ' '  said  Avdyeeich.  ' '  Here,  take 
a  cup  of  tea. ' ' 

And  Avdyeeich  filled  two  cups,  and  gave  one  to  his 
guest ;  and  as  Avdyeeich  drank  his  cup,  he  could  not  help 
glancing  at  the  window  from  time  to  time. 

"  Dos-t  thou  expect  any  one?  "  asked  his  guest. 

"  Do  I  expect  any  one?  Well,  honestly,  I  hardly  know. 
I  am  expecting,  and  I  am  not  expecting;  and  there's  a 
word  which  has  burnt  itself  right  into  my  heart.  Whether 
it  was  a  vision  or  no,  I  know  not.  Look  now,  my  brother ! 
I  was  reading  yesterday  about  our  little  Father  Christ, 
how  he  suffered,  how  He  came  on  earth.  Hast  thou  heard 
of  Him,  eh?" 

"  I  have  heard,  I  have  heard,"  replied  Stepanuich, 
"  but  we  poor  ignorant  ones  know  not  our  letters." 

' '  Anyhow,  I  was  reading  about  this  very  thing  —  how 
He  came  down  upon  earth.  I  was  reading  how  He  went 
to  the  Pharisee,  and  how  the  Pharisee  did  not  receive 
Him  at  all.  Thus  I  thought;  and  so,  about  yesternight, 
little  brother  mine,  I  read  that  very  thing,  and  bethought 
me  how  the  Honorable  did  not  receive  our  little  Father 
Christ  honorably.  But  suppose,  I  thought,  if  He  came  to 
one  like  me  —  would  I  receive  Him  ?  Simon  at  any  rate 
did  not  receive  Him  at  all.  Thus  I  thought,  and  so  think- 
ing, fell  asleep.  I  fell  asleep,  I  say,  little  brother  mine, 
and  I  heard  my  name  called.  I  started  up.  A  voice  was 
whispering  at  my  very  ear.  '  Look  out  to-morrow !  '  it 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIBE  GIKLS  213 

said,  '  I  am  coming.'  And  so  it  befell  me  twice.  Now 
look !  wouldst  thou  believe  it?  The  idea  stuck  to  me  —  I 
scold  myself  for  my  folly,  and  yet  I  look  for  Him,  our 
little  Father,  Christ!  " 

Stepanuich  shook  his  head  and  said  nothing,  but  he 
drank  his  cup  dry  and  put  it  aside.  Then  Avdyeeich 
took  up  the  cup  and  filled  it  again. 

"  Drink  some  more.     'Twill  do  thee  good." 

"  I  thank  thee,  Martin  Avdyeeich,"  said  he.  "I  have 
fared  well  at  thy  hands,  and  thou  hast  refreshed  me  both 
in  body  and  soul." 

"  Thou  wilt  show  me  a  kindness  by  coming  again.  I 
am  so  glad  to  have  a  guest,"  said  Avdyeeich.  Stepanuich 
departed,  and  Martin  poured  out  the  last  drop  of  tea, 
drank  it,  washed  up,  and  again  sat  down  by  the  window 
to  work. 

Then  there  came  alongside  the  window  a  woman  in 
worsted  stockings  and  rustic  shoes ;  and  as  she  was  pass- 
ing by,  she  stopped  short  in  front  of  the  partition  wall. 
Avdyeeich  looked  up  at  her  from  his  window,  and  he  saw 
that  the  woman  was  a  stranger  and  poorly  clad,  and  that 
she  had  a  little  child  with  her.  She  was  leaning  up 
against  the  wall  with  her  back  to  the  wind,  and  tried 
to  wrap  the  child  up,  but  she  had  nothing  to  wrap  it  up 
with.  The  woman  wore  summer  clothes,  and  thin  enough 
they  were.  And  from  out  of  his  corner  Avdyeeich  heard 
the  child  crying  and  the  woman  trying  to  comfort  it,  but 
she  could  not.  Then  Avdyeeich  got  up,  went  out  of  the 


214  STORY-TELLING 

door  and  on  to  the  steps,  and  cried,  "  My  good  woman! 
my  good  woman !  ' ' 

The  woman  heard  him  and  turned  round. 

"  Why  dost  thou  stand  out  in  the  cold  there  with  the 
child?  Come  inside!  " 

The  woman  was  amazed.  What  she  saw  was  an  old 
fellow  in  an  apron  and  with  glasses  on  his  nose  calling  to 
her.  She  came  towards  him. 

They  went  doAvn  the  steps  together.  The  old  man  led 
the  woman  to  the  bed.  "  There,"  said  he,  "  sit  down, 
gossip,  nearer  to  the  stove,  and  warm  and  feed  thy  little 
one " 

He  went  to  the  table  and  got  some  bread  and  a  dish. 

"  Sit  down  and  have  something  to  eat,  gossip,"  said 
he,  "  and  I  will  sit  down  a  little  with  the  youngster.  I 
have  had  children  of  my  own,  and  know  how  to  manage 
them." 

The  woman  crossed  herself,  sat  down  at  the  table,  and 
began  to  eat,  and  Avdyeeich  sat  down  on  the  bed  with 
the  child.  Avdyeeich  smacked  his  lips  at  him  again  and 
again,  but  his  lack  of  teeth  made  it  a  clumsy  joke  at  best. 
And  all  the  time  the  child  never  left  off  shrieking.  Then 
Avdyeeich  hit  upon  the  idea  of  shaking  his  finger  at  him ; 
so  he  snapped  his  fingers  up  and  down,  backwards  and 
forwards,  right  in  front  of  the  child's  mouth.  And  the 
child  stared  at  the  finger  and  was  silent,  and  presently 
it  began  to  laugh.  And  Avdyeeich  was  delighted.  But 
the  woman  went  on  eating,  and  told  him  who  she  was  and 
whence  she  came. 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIRE  GIRLS  215 

"  I  am  a  soldier's  wife,"  she  said:  "  It  is  now  three 
months  since  I  have  been  drifting  about  without  any 
fixed  resting-place.  I  have  eaten  away  my  all.  But,  God 
be  praised !  our  landlady  has  compassion  on  us,  and  gives 
us  shelter  for  Christ's  sake.  But  for  that  I  don't  know 
how  we  could  live  through  it  all." 

Jivdyeeich  sighed,  and  said,  "  And  have  you  no  warm 
c'Icches?  " 

"  Ah,  kind  friend!  this  is  indeed  warm-clothes  time, 
but  yesterday  I  pawned  away  my  last  shawl  for  two 
grivenki. ' ' 

The  woman  went  to  the  bed  and  took  up  the  child, 
but  Avdyeeich  stood  up,  went  to  the  wall  cupboard,  rum- 
maged about  a  bit,  and  then  brought  back  with  him  an 
old  jacket. 

"  Look!  "  said  he,  "  'tis  a  shabby  thing,  'tis  true,  but 
it  will  do  to  wrap  up  in." 

The  woman  looked  at  the  old  jacket;  then  she  gazed 
at  the  old  man,  and,  taking  the  jacket,  fell  a-weeping. 

Then  the  woman  said:  "  Christ  requite  thee,  dear 
little  father!  It  is  plain  that  it  was  He  who  sent  me 
by  thy  window." 

Avdyeeich  smiled  slightly,  and  said:  "  Yes,  He  must 
have  done  it,  for  I  looked  not  out  of  the  window  in  vain, 
dear  gossip!  " 

The  woman  went  away.  Avdyeeich  ate  up  the  re- 
mainder of  the  cabbage  soup,  washed  up,  and  again  sat 
down  to  work.  He  worked  on  and  on,  but  he  did  not 
forget  the  window ;  and  whenever  the  window  was  dark- 


216  STOEY-TELLING 

ened,  he  immediately  looked  up  to  see  who  was  passing. 
Acquaintances  passed,  strangers  passed,  but  there  was  no 
one  in  particular. 

But  now  Avdyeeich  saw  how,  right  in  front  of  his 
window,  an  old  woman,  a  huckster,  had  taken  her  stand. 
She  carried  a  basket  of  apples.  Not  many  now  remained ; 
she  had  evidently  sold  them  nearly  all.  Across  her 
shoulder  she  carried  a  sack  full  of  shavings.  It  was  plain 
that  the  sack  was  straining  her  shoulder.  She  wanted 
to  shift  it  on  to  the  other  shoulder ;  so  she  rested  the  sack 
on  the  pavement,  placed  the  apple-basket  on  a  small  post, 
and  set  about  shaking  down  the  shavings  in  the  sack. 
Now,  while  she  was  shaking  down  the  sack,  an  urchin 
in  a  ragged  cap  suddenly  turned  up,  goodness  knows 
from  whence,  grabbed  at  one  of  the  apples  in  the  basket, 
and  would  have  made  off  with  it,  but  the  wary  old 
woman  turned  quickly  round  and  gripped  the  youth  by 
the  sleeve.  The  lad  fought  and  tried  to  tear  himself 
loose,  but  the  old  woman  seized  him  with  both  hands, 
knocked  his  hat  off,  and  tugged  hard  at  his  hair.  The 
lad  howled,  and  the  woman  reviled  him.  Avdyeeich  did 
not  stop  to  put  away  his  awl,  but  pitched  it  on  the  floor, 
rushed  into  the  courtyard,  and  in  his  haste  stumbled  on 
the  steps  and  dropped  his  glasses.  Avdyeeich  ran  out 
into  the  street.  The  old  woman  was  tugging  at  the  lad's 
hair  and  wanted  to  drag  him  off  to  the  police,  while  the 
boy  fought  and  kicked. 

"  I  didn't  take  it,"  said  he.  "  What  are  you  whacking 
me  for?  Let  me  go!  " 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIEE  GJLKL.S  217 

Avdyeeich  came  up  and  tried  to  part  them.  He  seized 
the  lad  by  the  arm  and  said :  "  Let  him  go,  little  mother ! 
Forgive  him  for  Christ 's  sake !  ' ' 

"I'll  forgive  him  so  that  he  sha'n't  forget  the  taste  of 
fresh  birch-rods." 

Avdyeeich  began  to  entreat  with  the  old  woman. 

"Let  him  go,  little  mother;  he  will  not  do  so  any 
more. " 

The  old  woman  let  him  go.  The  lad  would  have  bolted, 
but  Avdyeeich  held  him  fast. 

"  Beg  the  little  mother's  pardon,"  said  he,  "  and  don't 
do  such  things  any  more.  I  saw  thee  take  them. ' ' 

Then  the  lad  began  to  cry  and  beg  pardon. 

"  Well,  that's  all  right!  And  now,  there's  an  apple 
for  thee."  And  Avdyeeich  took  one  out  of  the  basket 
and  gave  it  to  the  boy.  "  I'll  pay  thee  for  it,  little 
mother,"  he  said  to  the  old  woman. 

"  Thou  wilt  ruin  them  that  way,  the  blackguards," 
said  the  old  woman. 

"  Oh,  little  mother,  little  mother!  "  cried  Avdyeeich, 
' '  that  is  our  way  of  looking  at  things ;  but  it  is  not 
God's  way.  If  we  ought  to  be  whipped  so  for  the  sake 
of  one  apple,  what  do  we  deserve  for  our  sins  ?  '  * 

The  old  woman  was  silent. 

"  God  bade  us  forgive,"  said  Avdyeeich;  "  otherwise 
He  will  not  forgive  us.  We  must  forgive  everyone,  espe- 
cially the  thoughtless." 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head  and  sighed. 


218  STORY-TELLING 

Now  just  as  she  was  about  to  hoist  the  sack  on  to  her 
shoulder,  the  lad  rushed  forward  and  said : 

"  Give  it  here,  and  I'll  carry  it  for  thee,  granny!  It 
is  all  in  my  way." 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head,  but  she  did  put  the 
sack  on  the  lad's  shoulder. 

And  so  they  trudged  down  the  street  together,  side  by 
side.  And  the  old  woman  forgot  to  ask  Avdyeeich  for 
the  money  for  the  apple. 

Avdyeeich  followed  them  with  his  eyes  till  they  were 
out  of  sight;  then  he  turned  homewards.  "  I  see  it  is 
time  to  light  up,"  thought  he;  so  he  trimmed  his  little 
lamp,  lighted  it,  and  again  sat  down  to  work.  He  fin- 
ished one  boot  completely,  turned  it  round  and  inspected 
it.  "  Good!  "  he  cried.  He  put  away  his  tools,  swept 
up  the  cuttings,  removed  the  brushes  and  tips,  put  away 
the  awl,  took  down  the  lamp,  placed  it  on  the  table,  and 
took  down  the  Gospels  from  the  shelf.  He  wanted  to  find 
the  passage  where  he  had  last  evening  placed  a  strip  of 
morocco  leather  by  way  of  a  marker,  but  he  lit  upon 
another  place.  And  just  as  Avdyeeich  opened  the  Gospel, 
he  recollected  his  dream  of  yesterday  evening.  Then  a 
voice  whispered  in  his  ear : 

"  Martin!  Martin!  dost  thou  not  know  me?  " 
"  Who  art  thou?  "  cried  Avdyeeich. 
"  'Tis  I,"  cried  the  voice,  "  lo,   'tis  I!  "    And  forth 
from  the  dark  corner  stepped  Stepanuich.    He  smiled,  and 
it  was  as  though  a  little  cloud  were  breaking,  and  he  was 
gone. 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIBE  GIRLS  219 

"  It  is  I!  "  cried  the  voice,  and  forth  from  the  corner 
stepped  a  woman  with  a  little  child ;  and  the  woman  smiled 
and  the  child  laughed,  and  they  also  disappeared. 

"  And  it  is  I!  "  cried  the  voice,  and  the  old  woman 
and  the  lad  with  the  apple  stepped  forth,  and  both  of 
them  smiled,  and  they  also  disappeared. 

And  the  heart  of  Avdyeeich  was  glad.  He  crossed  him- 
self, put  on  his  glasses,  and  began  to  read  the  Gospels 
at  the  place  where  he  had  opened  them.  And  at  the  top 
of  the  page  he  read  these  words:  "  And  I  was  an  hungred 
and  athirst,  and  ye  gave  Me  to  drink.  I  was  a  stranger, 
and  ye  took  Me  in." 

And  at  the  bottom  of  the  page  he  read  this:  "  Inas- 
much as  ye  have  done  it  to  the  least  of  these,  My  brethren, 
ye  have  done  it  unto  Me.*' 

And  Avdyeeich  understood  that  his  dream  had  not 
deceived  him,  and  that  the  Saviour  had  really  come  to  him 
that  day,  and  he  had  really  received  Him. 

— Count  Lyof  N.  Tolstoy. 

OLD  PIPES  AND  THE  DRYAD  * 

1  For  many,  many  years  Old  Pipes  had  been  employed  by 
the  villagers  to  pipe  the  cattle  down  from  the  hills. 

But  now,  for  a  year  or  more,  Old  Pipes  had  not  piped 
the  cattle  home.  It  is  true  that  every  afternoon  he  sat 
upon  the  rock  and  played  upon  his  pipes ;  but  the  cattle 
did  not  hear  him.  He  had  grown  old,  and  his  breath 

*  First  published  1888. 


220  STOBY-TELLING 

was  feeble.  The  echoes  of  his  cheerful  notes,  which  used 
to  come  from  the  rocky  hill  on  the  other  side  of  the  val- 
ley, were  heard  no  more ;  and  twenty  yards  from  Old  Pipes 
one  could  scarcely  tell  what  tune  he  was  playing.  The 
cows,  and  sheep,  and  the  goats  came  down  every  after- 
noon as  before;  but  this  was  because  two  boys  and  a 
girl  were  sent  up  after  them.  The  villagers  did  not  wish 
the  good  old  man  to  know  that  his  piping  was  no  longer 
of  any  use ;  so  they  paid  him  his  little  salary  every  month, 
and  said  nothing  about  the  two  boys  and  the  girl. 

One  afternoon,  at  the  end  of  the  month,  when  Old 
Pipes  had  finished  his  piping,  he  took  his  stout  staff  and 
went  down  the  hill  to  the  village  to  receive  the  money 
for  his  month's  work. 

When  the  Chief  Villager  had  paid  him,  and  he  had 
talked  a  little  with  some  of  his  friends,  Old  Pipes  started 
to  go  home.  But  when  he  had  gone  a  short  distance  up 
the  hillside,  he  became  very  tired,  and  sat  down  upon  a 
stone.  He  had  not  been  sitting  there  half  a  minute, 
when  along  came  two  boys  and  a  girl. 

"  Children,"  said  Old  Pipes,  "I'm  very  tired  to-night, 
and  I  don't  believe  I  can  climb  up  this  steep  path  to  my 
home.  I  think  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  help  me." 

"  We  will  do  that,"  said  the  boys  and  the  girl,  quite 
cheerfully.  Old  Pipes  gave  each  of  the  three  children  a 
copper  coin,  and  then  they  sat  down  for  a  few  minutes ' 
rest  before  starting  back  to  the  village. 

' '  I  'm  sorry  that  I  tired  you  so  much, ' '  said  Old  Pipes. 

"  Oh,  that  would  not  have  tired  us,"  said  one  of  the 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIRE  GIRLS  221 

boys,  "  if  we  had  not  been  so  far  to-day  after  the  cows, 
and  the  sheep,  and  the  goats." 

"  Had  to  go  after  the  cows,  the  sheep,  and  the  goats !  " 
exclaimed  Old  Pipes.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 

The  girl,  who  stood  behind  the  old  man,  shook  her 
head,  but  the  boy  did  not  notice  her,  and  promptly 
answered  Old  Pipes. 

"  Why,  you  see,  good  sir,"  said  he,  "  that  as  the 
cattle  can't  hear  your  pipes  now,  somebody  has  to  go 
after  them  every  evening  to  drive  them  down  from  the 
mountain,  and  the  Chief  Villager  has  hired  us  three  to 
doit." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  doing  this?  "  asked  the  old 
man. 

The  girl  shook  her  head  and  clapped  her  hand  on  her 
mouth  as  before,  but  the  boy  went  on. 

"  I  think  it  is  about  a  year  now,"  he  said,  "  since 
the  people  first  felt  sure  that  the  cattle  could  not  hear 
your  pipes.  Goodnight,  sir. ' ' 

The  three  children  then  went  down  the  hill,  the  girl 
scolding  the  boy  all  the  way  home.  Old  Pipes  stood 
silent  a  few  moments  and  then  he  went  into  his  cottage. 
'  "  Mother,"  he  shouted,  "  did  you  hear  what  those 
children  said?  " 

"  Children!  "  exclaimed  the  old  woman;  "  I  did  not 
hear  them.'* 

Then  Old  Pipes  told  his  mother  —  shouting  very  loudly 
to  make  her  hear. 

"  Nonsense!  "  cried  his  mother.     "I'm  sure  you've 


222  STOEY-TELLING 

piped  as  well  as  you  could,  and  no  more  can  be  expected. 
And  what  are  we  to  do  without  the  money?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Old  Pipes;  "  but  I'm  going  down 
to  the  village  to  pay  it  back." 

When  he  had  gone  about  half  way  the  old  man  sat 
down  to  rest,  leaning  his  back  against  a  great  oak  tree. 
As  he  did  so,  he  heard  a  sound  like  knocking  inside  the 
tree,  and  then  a  voice  said : 

11  Let  me  out!  let  me  out!  " 

Old  Pipes  instantly  forgot  that  he  was  tired,  and 
sprang  to  his  feet.  "  This  must  be  a  Dryad  tree!  "  he 
exclaimed.  "  If  it  is,  I'll  let  her  out." 

He  closely  examined  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  which  stood 
in  the  full  moonlight.  "  If  I  see  that  key,"  he  said,  "  I 
shall  surely  turn  it."  Before  long  he  found  a  piece  of 
bark  standing  out  from  the  tree,  which  looked  to  him 
very  much  like  the  handle  of  a  key.  He  took  hold  of  it, 
and  found  he  could  turn  it  quite  around.  As  he  did  so,  a 
large  part  of  the  side  of  the  tree  was  pushed  open,  and 
a  beautiful  Dryad  stepped  quickly  out. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  motionless,  gazing  on  the  scene 
before  her.  "  Oh,  lovely!  lovely!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  How 
long  it  is  since  I  have  seen  anything  like  this!  "  And 
then,  turning  to  Old  Pipes,  she  said :  "  How  good  of  you 
to  let  me  out!  I  am  so  happy,  and  so  thankful,  that  I 
must  kiss  you,  you  dear  old  man!  "  And  she  kissed  him 
on  both  cheeks. 

"  You  don't  know  how  doleful  it  is  to  be  shut  up  so 
long  in  a  tree.  It's  ever  so  long  since  I've  been  let  out. 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIRE  GIRLS  223 

People  so  seldom  come  this  way ;  and  when  they  do  come 
at  the  right  time,  they  either  don't  hear  me,  or  they  are 
frightened  and  run  away.  What  can  I  do  for  you,  to 
show  you  how  grateful  I  am  ?  ' ' 

"  If  you  wish  to  do  something  for  me,  you  can,  if  you 
happen  to  be  going  down  toward  the  village.  I  wish  you 
would  take  this  little  bag  of  money  to  the  Chief  Villager 
and  tell  him  that  Old  Pipes  cannot  receive  pay  for  the 
services  which  he  does  not  perform.  It  is  now  more  than 
a  year  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  make  the  cattle  hear 
me  when  I  piped  to  call  them  home.  I  did  not  know  this 
until  to-night;  but  now  that  I  know  it,  I  cannot  keep 
the  money,  and  so  I  send  it  back."  And,  handing  the 
little  bag  to  the  Dryad,  he  bade  her  good-night,  and 
turned  toward  his  cottage. 

"  Good-night,"  said  the  Dryad.  "  And  I  thank  you 
over  and  over  and  over  again,  you  good  old  man!  " 

Old  Pipes  walked  toward  his  home,  very  glad  to  be 
saved  the  fatigue  of  going  all  the  way  down  to  the  village 
and  back  again.  When  he  reached  home  his  mother  was 
surprised  to  see  him  returning  so  soon. 

When  Old  Pipes  left  the  Dryad,  she  did  not  go  down 
to  the  village  with  the  little  bag  of  money.  She  held 
it  in  her  hand,  and  thought  about  what  she  had  heard. 
"  This  is  a  good  and  honest  old  man,"  she  said;  "  and  it 
is  a  shame  that  he  should  lose  this  money.  I  am  going 
to  take  the  money  back  to  him."  She  did  not  start  imme- 
diately, because  there  were  so  many  beautiful  things  to 
look  at ;  but  after,  awhile  she  went  up  to  the  cottage,  and, 


£24  STOBl'-TELLlNtt 

finding  Old  Pipes  asleep  in  his  chair,  she  slipped  the  little 
bag  into  his  coat  pocket,  and  silently  sped  away. 

The  next  day  old  Pipes  told  his  mother  that  he  would 
go  up  the  mountain  and  cut  some  wood.  He  worked  all 
the  morning,  and  when  he  came  back  he  did  not  feel  at 
all  tired,  and  he  had  a  very  good  appetite  for  his  dinner. 

Now,  Old  Pipes  knew  a  good  deal  about  Dryads;  but 
there  was  one  thing  which,  although  he  had  heard,  he  had 
forgotten.  This  was,  that  a  kiss  from  a  Dryad  made  a 
person  ten  years  younger. 

He  had  been  kissed  twice  by  the  Dryad,  once  on  each 
cheek,  and  he  therefore  felt  as  vigorous  and  active  as 
when  he  was  a  hale  man  of  fifty. 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  Old  Pipes,  for  the  first 
time  that  day,  put  his  hand  in  his  coat  pocket,  and  there, 
to  his  amazement,  he  found  the  little  bag  of  money. 
"  Well,  well!  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  am  stupid,  indeed!  I 
really  thought  that  I  had  seen  a  Dryad.  But  the  Chief 
Villager  shall  have  the  money.  I  shall  not  take  it  to  him 
to-day,  but  to-morrow  I  wish  to  go  to  the  village  to  see 
some  of  my  old  friends,  and  then  I  shall  give  up  the 
money." 

Toward  the  close  of  the  afternoon,  Old  Pipes,  as  had 
been  his  custom  for  so  many  years,  took  his  pipes  from 
the  shelf  on  which  they  lay,  and  went  out  to  the  rock 
in  front  of  the  cottage. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  cried  his  mother.  "  If 
you  will  not  consent  to  be  paid,  why  do  you  pipe?  " 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIEE  GIELS  225 

"  I  am  going  to  pipe  for  my  own  pleasure,"  said  her 
son. 

When  the  good  man  began  to  play  upon  his  favorite 
instrument,  he  was  astonished  at  the  sound  that  came 
from  it.  The  beautiful  notes  of  the  pipes  sounded  clear 
and  strong  down  into  the  valley,  and  spread  over  the 
hills,  and  up  the  sides  of  the  mountain  beyond;  while, 
after  a  little  interval,  an  echo  came  back  from  the  rocky 
hill  on  the  other  side  of  the  valley. 

The  merry  notes  were  heard  in  the  village  below,  and 
the  people  were  much  astonished  thereby.  "  Why,  who 
can  be  blowing  the  pipes  of  Old  Pipes?  "  they  said.  But, 
as  they  were  all  very  busy,  no  one  went  up  to  see. 

The  next  morning  Old  Pipes  started  down  to  the  vil- 
lage with  his  money,  and  on  the  way  he  met  the  Dryad. 
"  Oh,  ho !  "  he  cried,  "  is  that  you?  Why,  I  thought  my 
letting  you  out  of  the  tree  was  nothing  but  a  dream." 

"  A  dream!  "  cried  the  Dryad;  "  if  you  only  knew 
how  happy  you  have  made  me,  you  would  not  think  it 
merely  a  dream.  And  has  it  not  benefited  you?  Do  you 
not  feel  happier  ?  Yesterday  I  heard  you  playing  beauti- 
fully on  your  pipes." 

' "  Yes,  yes,"  cried  he.  "I  did  not  understand  it  before, 
but  I  see  it  all  now.  I  have  really  grown  younger.  I 
thank  you,  I  thank  you,  good  Dryad,  from  the  bottom  of 
my  heart.  It  was  the  finding  of  the  money  in  my  pocket 
that  made  me  think  it  was  a  dream." 

"  Oh,  I  put  it  in  when  you  were  asleep,"  she  said, 


226  STORY-TELLING 

laughing,  "  because  I  thought  you  ought  to  keep  it.  Good- 
bye, kind,  honest  man.  May  you  live  long,  and  be  as 
happy  as  I  am  now. ' ' 

Old  Pipes  was  greatly  delighted  when  he  understood 
that  he  was  really  a  younger  man;  but  that  made  no 
difference  about  the  money,  and  he  kept  on  his  way  to 
the  village.  As  soon  as  he  reached  it,  he  was  eagerly 
questioned  as  to  who  had  been  playing  his  pipes  the 
evening  before;  and  when  the  people  heard  that  it  was 
himself,  they  were  very  much  surprised.  Thereupon,  Old 
Pipes  told  what  had  happened  to  him.  The  Chief  Villager 
refused  to  take  his  money ;  and  although  Old  Pipes  said 
that  he  had  not  earned  it,  everyone  present  insisted  that, 
as  he  would  now  play  on  his  pipes  as  before,  he  should 
lose  nothing  because,  for  a  time,  he  was  unable  to  per- 
form his  duty. 

So  Old  Pipes  was  obliged  to  keep  his  money,  and  after 
an  hour  or  two  spent  in  conversation  with  his  friends 
he  returned  to  his  cottage. 

There  was  one  person,  however,  who  was  not  pleased 
with  what  had  happened  to  Old  Pipes.  This  was  an 
Echo-Dwarf  who  lived  on  the  hills  across  the  valley.  It 
was  his  work  to  echo  back  the  notes  of  the  pipes  when- 
ever they  could  be  heard. 

A  great  many  other  Echo-dwarfs  lived  on  these  hills. 
But  there  was  only  one  who  could  send  back  the  strong 
notes  of  the  pipes  of  Old  Pipes,  and  this  had  been  his  sole 
duty  for  many  years.  But  when  the  old  man  grew  feeble, 
and  the  notes  of  his  pipes  could  not  be  heard  on  the  oppo- 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIKE  GIRLS  227 

site  hills,  this  Echo-dwarf  had  nothing  to  do;  and  he 
spent  his  time  in  delightful  idleness ;  and  he  slept  so  much 
and  grew  so  fat  that  it  made  his  companions  laugh  to 
see  him  walk. 

On  the  afternoon  on  which,  after  so  long  an  interval, 
the  sound  of  the  pipes  was  heard  on  the  echo  hills,  this 
dwarf  was  fast  asleep  behind  a  rock.  As  soon  as  the 
first  notes  reached  them,  some  of  his  companions  ran 
to  wake  him  up.  Rolling  to  his  feet,  he  echoed  back  the 
merry  tune  of  Old  Pipes.  The  Echo-dwarf  was  very 
angry.  He  had  supposed,  of  course,  that  the  pipe-playing 
had  ceased  forever.  He  was  so  much  disturbed  that  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  go  and  try  to  find  out  how  long  this 
was  to  last.  When  he  had  crossed  the  valley  and  had 
gone  some  distance  into  the  woods  on  the  hillside,  he 
stopped  to  rest,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  Dryad  came 
tripping  along. 

"  Ho,  ho !  "  exclaimed  the  dwarf;  "  what  are  you  doing 
here  ?  and  how  did  you  get  out  of  your  tree  ?  ' ' 

"  Doing!  "  cried  the  Dryad.  "  I  was  let  out  of  my 
tree  by  the  good  old  man  who  plays  the  pipes  to  call  the 
cattle  down  from  the  mountain.  And  it  makes  me  hap- 
pier to  think  that  I  have  been  of  service  to  him.  I  gave 
him  two  kisses  of  gratitude,  and  now  he  is  young  enough 
to  play  his  pipes  as  well  as  ever." 

The  Echo-dwarf  stepped  forward,  his  face  pale  with 
passion.  "  Am  I  to  believe,"  he  said,  "  that  you  are  the 
cause  of  this  great  evil  that  has  come  upon  me?  What 
have  I  ever  done  to  you  that  you  should  have  condemned 


228  STOBY-TELLING 

me  for  years  and  yeara  *,o  echo  back  the  notes  of  those 
wretched  pipes?  " 

At  this  the  Dryad  laughed  loudly. 

"  What  a  funny  little  fellow  you  are !  "  she  said.  "  Fie 
upon  you,  Echo-dwarf !  You  are  lazy  and  selfish,  that  is 
what  is  the  matter  with  you.  Go  home  and  learn  to  be 
just  and  generous ;  and  then,  perhaps,  you  may  be  happy. 
Good-bye." 

'  *  Insolent  creature !  ' '  shouted  the  dwarf,  as  he  shook 
his  fat  little  fist  at  her.  ' '  I  '11  make  you  suffer  for  this. ' ' 

Each  day,  from  early  morning  till  it  was  time  for  him 
to  go  back  to  his  duties  upon  the  rocky  hillside,  he 
searched  the  woods  for  her.  He  intended,  if  he  met  her, 
to  pretend  to  be  very  sorry  for  what  he  had  said,  and 
he  thought  he  might  be  able  to  play  a  trick  upon  her 
which  would  avenge  him  well. 

One  day,  while  thus  wandering  among  the  trees,  he  met 
Old  Pipes.  The  Echo-dwarf  did  not  generally  care  to 
see  or  speak  to  ordinary  people;  but  now  he  was  so 
anxious  to  find  the  object  of  his  search  that  he  stopped 
and  asked  Old  Pipes  if  he  had  seen  the  Dryad. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  have  been  looking  everywhere  for 
her." 

"  You,"  cried  the  dwarf,  "  what  do  you  wish  with  her?  " 

Old  Pipes  then  told  what  the  Dryad  had  done  for  him. 

When  the  Echo-dwarf  heard  that  this  was  the  man 
whose  pipes  he  was  obliged  to  echo  back  every  day,  he 
would  have  slain  him  on  the  spot,  had  he  been  able;  but, 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIEE  GIRLS  229 

as  he  was  not  able,  he  merely  ground  his  teeth  and  listened 
to  the  rest  of  the  story. 

"  I  am  looking  for  the  Dryad  to  ask  her  to  make  my 
mother  younger,  as  she  made  me, ' '  continued  Old  Pipes. 

The  eyes  of  the  Echo-dwarf  glistened. 

"  Your  idea  is  a  good  one,"  he  said  to  Old  Pipes, 
*'  and  it  does  you  honor.  But  you  should  know  that  a 
Dryad  can  make  no  person  younger  but  one  who  lets  her 
out  of  her  tree.  All  you  need  do  is  to  find  the  Dryad, 
tell  her  what  you  want,  and  request  her  to  step  into  her 
tree  and  bring  your  mother  to  the  iree ;  she  will  open 
it,  and  everything  will  be  as  you  wish.  Is  not  this  a 
good  plan?  " 

"  Excellent!  "  cried  Old  Pipes;  "  and  I  will  go  in- 
stantly and  search  more  diligently  for  the  Dryad. ' ' 

"  Take  me  with  you,"  said  the  Echo-dwarf. 

Before  long  they  came  to  the  great  oak  tree  in  which 
the  Dryad  had  lived,  and  at  a  distance  they  saw  that 
beautiful  creature  herself  coming  toward  them. 

"  How  excellently  well  everything  happens!"  said  the 
dwarf.  "  Put  m,e  down,  and  I  will  go." 

Old  Pipes  put  the  Echo-dwarf  upon  the  ground,  but 
the  little  rogue  did  not  go  away.  He  hid  himself  between 
some  low,  mossy  rocks,  and  he  was  so  much  like  them  in 
color  that  you  would  not  have  noticed  him  if  you  had 
been  looking  straight  at  him. 

When  the  Dryad  came  up,  Old  Pipes  lost  no  time  in 
telling  her  about  his  mother,  and  what  he  wished  her  to 
do. 


230  STORY-TELLING 

"  Do  you  really  wish  me  to  go  into  my  tree  again?  " 
she  said.  "  It  is  not  at  all  necessary,  for  I  could  make  your 
mother  younger  at  any  time  if  she  would  give  me  the 
opportunity.  I  cannot  imagine  what  put  this  idea  into 
your  head.  Did  you  think  of  it  yourself?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Old  Pipes.  "  A  little  dwarf  whom  I 
met  in  the  woods  proposed  it  to  me. ' ' 

"  Oh !  "  cried  the  Dryad,  ' '  it  is  the  scheme  of  that  vile 
Echo-dwarf  —  your  enemy  and  mine.  Where  is  he?  " 

' '  I  think  he  has  gone  away, ' '  said  Old  Pipes. 

"  No,  he  has  not,"  said  the  Dryad,  whose  quick  eyes 
perceived  the  Echo-dwarf  among  the  rocks.  "  There  he 
is.  Seize  him  and  drag  him  out,  I  beg  of  you.'* 

Old  Pipes  saw  the  dwarf  as  soon  as  he  was  pointed  out 
to  him;  and  running  to  the  rocks,  he  caught  the  little 
fellow  by  the  arm  and  pulled  him  out. 

"  Now,  then,"  cried  the  Dryad,  who  had  opened  the 
door  of  the  great  oak,  "  just  stick  him  in  there,  and  we 
will  shut  him  up." 

Old  Pipes  thrust  the  Echo-dwarf  into  the  tree;  the 
Dryad  pushed  the  door  shut ;  there  was  a  clicking  sound 
of  bark  and  wood,  and  no  one  would  have  noticed  that 
the  big  oak  had  ever  had  an  opening  in  it. 

' '  There, ' '  said  the  Dryad ;  * '  now  we  need  not  be  afraid 
of  him.  And  I  assure  you,  my  good  piper,  that  I  shall 
be  very  glad  to  make  your  mother  younger  as  soon  as  I 
can." 

And  then,  the  Dryad  at  his  side,  Old  Pipes  hurried  to 
his  cottage.  But  when  he  mentioned  the  matter  to  his 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIEE  GIRLS  231 

mother,  the  old  woman  became  very  angry  indeed.  She 
did  not  believe  in  Dryads. 

As  the  summer  days  went  on,  Old  Pipes'  mother  grew 
feebler  and  feebler.  "  Alas!  alas!  "  she  said,  "  the  time 
has  come  when  I  am  too  old  to  work.  My  son  will  have  to 
hire  some  one  to  come  here  and  cook  his  meals,  make  his 
bed,  and  mend  his  clothes.  Alas !  alas !  I  had  hoped  that 
as  long  as  I  lived  I  should  be  able  to  do  these  things. 
But  it  is  not  so.  I  have  grown  utterly  worthless,  and 
someone  else  must  prepare  the  dinner  for  my  son.  I 
wonder  where  he  is. ' '  And  tottering  to  the  door,  she  went 
outside  to  look  for  him.  She  did  not  feel  able  to  stand, 
and  reaching  the  rustic  chair,  she  sank  into  it,  quite  ex- 
hausted, and  soon  fell  asleep. 

The  Dryad,  who  had  often  come  to  the  cottage,  stepped 
up  quietly  behind  the  old  woman  and  gently  kissed  her 
on  each  cheek,  and  then  as  quietly  disappeared. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  mother  of  Old  Pipes  awoke,  and 
looking  up  at  the  sun,  she  exclaimed :  ' '  Why,  it  is  almost 
dinner-time !  My  son  will  be  here  directly,  and  I  am  not 
ready  for  him." 

' '  How  a  little  sleep  does  refresh  one, ' '  she  said  to  her- 
self, as  she  was  bustling  about.  The  moment  Old  Pipes 
saw  his  mother,  he  knew  that  the  Dryad  had  been  there ; 
but,  while  he  felt  as  happy  as  a  king,  he  was  too  wise  to 
say  anything  about  her. 

The  summer  days  went  on  and  passed  away,  the  leaves 
were  falling  from  the  trees,  and  the  air  was  becoming 
cold. 


232  STORY-TELLING 

"  Nature  has  ceased  to  be  lovely,"  said  the  Dryad, 
"  and  the  night  winds  chill  me.  It  is  time  for  me  to  go 
back  into  my  comfortable  quarters  in  the  great  oak. 
But  first  I  must  pay  another  visit  to  the  cottage  of  Old 
Pipes." 

She  found  the  piper  and  his  mother  sitting  side  by  side 
on  the  rock  in  front  of  the  door. 

"  How  happy  they  look,  sitting  there  together,"  said 
the  Dryad;  "  and  I  don't  believe  it  will  do  them  a  bit 
of  harm  to  be  still  younger. "  And  moving  quietly  up 
behind  them,  she  first  kissed  Old  Pipes  on  his  cheek  and 
then  kissed  his  mother. 

Old  Pipes,  who  had  stopped  playing,  knew  what  it  was, 
but  he  did  not  move,  and  said  nothing.  His  mother, 
thinking  that  her  son  had  kissed  her,  turned  to  him  with 
a  smile  and  kissed  him  in  return.  And  then  she  arose 
and  went  into  the  cottage,  a  vigorous  woman  of  sixty, 
followed  by  her  son,  erect  and  happy,  and  twenty  years 
younger  than  herself. 

The  Dryad  sped  away  to  the  woods,  shrugging  her 
shoulders  as  she  felt  the  cool  evening  wind. 

When  she  reached  the  great  oak,  she  turned  the  key 
and  opened  the  door.  "  Come  out,"  she  said  to  the 
Echo-dwarf,  who  sat  blinking  within.  "  Winter  is  com- 
ing on,  and  I  want  the  comfortable  shelter  of  my  tree  for 
myself.  The  cattle  have  come  down  from  the  mountain 
for  the  last  time  this  year,  the  pipes  will  no  longer  sound, 
and  you  can  go  to  your  rocks  and  have  a  holiday  until 
next  spring." 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND   CAMPFIRE  GIRLS  233 

Upon  hearing  these  words,  the  dwarf  skipped  quickly 
out,  and  the  Dryad  entered  the  tree  and  pulled  the  door 
shut  after  her.  "  Now,  then,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  he 
can  break  off  the  key  if  he  likes.  It  does  not  matter  to 
me.  Another  will  grow  out  next  spring.  And  although 
the  good  piper  made  me  no  promise,  I  know  that  when 
the  warm  days  arrive  next  year,  he  will  come  and  let  me 
out  again." 

The  Echo-dwarf  did  not  stop  to  break  the  key  of  the 
tree.  He  was  too  happy  to  be  released  to  think  of  any- 
thing else,  and  he  hastened  as  fast  as  he  could  to  his 
home  on  the  rocky  hillside. 

The  Dryad  was  not  mistaken  when  she  trusted  in  the 
piper.  When  the  warm  days  came  again  he  went  to  the 
oak  tree  to  let  her  out.  But,  to  his  sorrow,  and  surprise, 
he  found  the  great  tree  lying  upon  the  ground.  A  winter 
storm  had  blown  it  down,  and  it  lay  with  its  trunk  shat- 
tered and  split.  And  what  became  of  the  Dryad  no  one 
ever  knew. 

—From  Frank  B.  Stockton's  "  The  Bee  Man  Of-Orn." 

THE  STORY  OF  A  FOREST  FIRE  * 

For  more  than  six  week  no  rain  had  fallen  along  the 
southwest  side  of  the  Adirondacks.  The  ground  was 
parched.  In  every  direction  from  Seaberry  Settlement 
fires  had  been  burning  through  the  forest,  but  as  yet  the 
valley  of  the  We"st  Canada  had  escaped. 

*  Reprinted  by  courtesy  of  The  Youths'  Companion.  Copy- 
righted. 


234  STORY-TELLING 

But  one  night  a  careless  man  threw  a  burning  match 
yinto  a  brush-heap.  When  morning  came  the  west  wind, 
blowing  up  the  valley,  was  ash-laden  and  warm  with  the 
fire  that  was  coming  eastward  toward  the  settlement  in  a 
line  a  mile  wide. 

Soon  after  daybreak  Lem  Lawson  met  the  fire  on  his 
way  to  Noblesborough,  and  warned  the  settlement  of  its 
danger.  One  man  hastened  to  Noblesborough  for  the  fire- 
warden; two  went  up  the  West  Canada  to  the  lumber 
camps.  The  rest  of  the  male  population,  including  boys, 
hastened  down  the  main  road  to  an  old  log  trail. 

It  was  hoped  the  fire  might  be  stopped  at  the  opening 
the  road  afforded. 

With  hoes  and  shovels  the  men  dug  a  trench  through  the 
loam  to  the  sand,  scattering  the  dirt  over  the  leaves 
toward  the  fire.  When  the  first  flames  came  along,  they 
redoubled  their  efforts  amid  the  flying  sparks  and  suffo- 
cating smoke,  but  without  avail.  The  sparks  and  great 
pieces  of  flaming  birch  curls  carried  the  flames  over  the 
road  into  the  woods  beyond  the  men,  fairly  surrounding 
them  with  fire. 

The  men  could  only  go  before  it,  pausing  now  and  then 
to  throw  dirt  on  a  spark.  Those  who  lived  in  the  settle- 
ment glanced  from  side  to  side,  wondering  if  the  fire 
would  cross  the  brook,  where  they  now  determined  to 
make  another  and  the  last  possible  stand. 

The  settlement  was  built  along  the  brink  of  a  steep  side- 
hill.  The  bed  of  the  stream  was  only  a  few  feet  wide  — 
chiefly  sand-bar  and  dry  boulders  at  this  time  —  and  be- 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIEE  GIRLS  235 

yond  it,  toward  the  fire,  was  a  flat,  or  bottom,  sixty  rods 
wide,  averaging  not  two  feet  above  the  bed  of  the  brook. 

Should  the  fire  cross  the  brook,  it  would  climb  the  hill 
and  burn  the  buildings.  Then  it  would  sweep  across  the 
narrow  fields  of  grass,  or  go  round  the  ends  of  the  settle- 
ment clearing  into  the  "  big  woods." 

One  of  the  fire-fighters  was  Will  Borson,  son  of  the 
man  who  had  thrown  the  match,  and  as  he  fought  with 
his  hoe  along  the  road  he  heard  the  men  on  each  side  of 
him  cursing  his  father  by  name  for  his  carelessness.  More 
than  once  these  men  turned  on  Will,  and  told  him  he 
ought  to  put  that  fire  out,  since  his  father  was  to  blame 
for  it. 

Will  did  his  best.  Sparks  burned  holes  in  his  shirt ;  a 
flare  of  sheet  fire  from  a  brush-heap  singed  his  eyelashes 
and  the  hair  over  his  forehead.  When  old  Ike  Frazicr 
cried  out,  "  It's  no  use  here  any  more,  boys!  "  Will  was 
the  last  one  to  duck  his  head  and  run  for  the  road  up  the 
creek  to  the  settlement. 

Half  a  dozen  men  were  detailed  to  go  to  the  houses  and 
help  the  women  carry  the  furniture  and  other  household 
goods  out  in  the  fields  to  the  watering-troughs;  the  rest 
hastened  to  the  brook  and  scattered  along  it,  and  threw 
water  on  the  brush  at  the  edge,  hoping  the  flames  would  be 
deadened  when  they  came. 

Among  them  worked  Will  Borson,  thinking  with  ail  his 
might  and  looking  up  and  down  the  creek  as  if  the  dry 
gray  boulders,  with  the  scant  thread  of  water  oozing 
down  among  them,  would  give  him  some  inspiration. 


236  STOEY-TELLING 

The  width  of  the  stream  was  only  a  few  feet  on  an  average, 
and  twenty  feet  at  the  widest  pools,  over  which  the 
flames  and  sparks  would  quickly  jump. 

The  fire  reached  the  flat  at  the  foot  of  the  ridge  and 
came  toward  the  brook  in  jumps.  The  men  worked 
faster  than  ever  with  their  ten-quart  pails.  Old  Ike 
Frazier  glanced  up  the  stream,  and  saw  Will  leaning  on 
his  hoe-handle,  doing  nothing. 

"  Hi,  there!  "  yelled  the  man.    "  Get  to  work!  " 

"You  tell  the  men  they  want  to  be  looking  out!  " 
Will  called  back.  "  Something '11  happen  pretty  quick!  " 
With  that  he  dropped  his  hoe  and  went  climbing  up  the 
side-hill  toward  his  home  at  the  top.  Mrs.  Borson  was 
just  piling  the  last  of  her  bedding  on  the  wagon  when 
she  saw  Will  coming  toward  her.  He  unhitched  the  horse 
from  the  wagon,  and  had  the  harness  scattered  on  the 
ground  before  his  mother  could  control  herself  enough 
to  cry: 

"  Those  things '11  be  burned  here!  What  are  you  tak- 
ing the  horse  for  —  we  —  we  —  " 

Then  she  sank  to  the  ground  and  cried,  while  Will's 
younger  brothers  and  sisters  joined  in. 

Wilb  did  not  stop  to  say  anything,  but  leaped  to  the 
back  of  the  horse,  and  away  he  went  up  to  the  road,  to 
the  amazement  of  those  who  were  taking  their  goods  from 
the  houses.  But  he  was  soon  in  the  woods  above  the 
settlement  and  out  of  sight  of  every  one. 

He  was  headed  for  the  dam.  He  had  thought  to  open 
the  little  sluice  at  the  bottom  of  it,  which  would  add  to 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIRE  GIRLS  287 

the  volume  of  the  water  in  the  stream  —  raise  it  a  foot, 
perhaps. 

He  reached  the  dam,  and  prying  at  the  gate,  opened 
the  way.  A  stream  of  water  two  feet  square  shot  from 
the  bottom  of  the  dam  and  went  sloshing  down  among  Jhe 
rocks. 

"  That  water '11  help  a  lot,"  he  thought.  Then  he 
heard  the  roar  of  the  fire  down  the  brook,  and  saw  a 
huge,  dull,  brick-colored  flash  as  a  big  hemlock  went  up 
in  flame.  The  amount  of  water  gushing  from  the  gate 
of  the  dam  seemed  suddenly  small  and  useless.  It  would 
not  fill  the  brook  bed.  In  a  little  shanty  a  hundred  yards 
away  were  the  quarrying  tools  used  in  getting  out  the 
stone  for  the  Cardin  house.  To  this  Will  ran  with  all  his 
speed. 

With  an  old  ax  that  was  behind  the  shanty  he  broke 
down  the  door.  Inside  he  picked  up  a  full  twelve-pound 
box  of  dynamite,  and  bored  a  hole  the  size  of  his  finger 
into  one  side.  Then  with  a  fuse  and  cap  in  one  hand  and 
the  box  under  his  arm,  he  hurried  back  to  the  dam. 

He  climbed  down  the  ladder  to  the  bottom  of  the  dam, 
and  fixing  the  fuse  to  the  cap,  ran  it  into  the  hole  he  had 
bored  till  it  was  well  among  the  sawdust  and  sticks  of 
dynamite.  He  cut  the  fuse  to  two  minutes'  length,  and 
carried  the  box  back  among  the  big  key  logs  that  held 
the  dam.  He  was  soon  ready.  He  jammed  the  box  under 
water  among  beams  where  it  would  stick.  A  match 
started  the  fuse  going,  and  then  Will  climbed  the  ladder 
and  ran  for  safety. 


238  STORY-TELLING 

In  a  few  moments  the  explosion  came.  Will  heard  the 
beams  in  the  gorge  tumbling  as  the  dam  gave  way,  and 
the  water  behind  was  freed.  Away  it  went,  washing  and 
pounding  down  the  narrow  ravine  toward  the  low  bottom. 

The  fire-fighters  heard  the  explosion  and  paused,  won- 
dering, to  listen.  The  next  instant  the  roar  of  the  water 
came  to  their  ears,  and  the  tremble  caused  by  logs  and 
boulders  rolling  with  the  flood  was  felt.  Then  every  man 
understood  what  was  done,  for  they  had  been  log-drivers 
all  their  lives,  and  knew  the  signs  of  a  loosed  sluice-gate 
or  of  a  broken  jam. 

They  climbed  the  steep  bank  toward  the  buildings,  to 
be  above  the  flood-line,  yelling  warnings  that  were  half 
cheers. 

In  a  few  moments  the  water  was  below  the  mouth  of 
the  gorge,  and  then  it  rushed  over  the  low  west  bank  of 
the  brook  and  spread  out  on  the  wide  flat  where  the  fire 
was  raging.  For  a  minute  clouds  of  steam,  and  loud  hiss- 
ing marked  the  progress  of  the  wave,  and  then  the  brush- 
heaps  from  edge  to  edge  of  the  valley  bottom  were  cov- 
ered and  the  fire  was  drowned. 

The  fires  left  in  the  trees  above  the  high-water  mark 
and  the  flames  back  on  the  ridge  still  thrust  and  flared, 
but  were  unable  to  cross  the  wide,  wet  flood-belt.  The 
settlement  and  the  "  big  woods  "  beyond  were  saved. 

Sol  Cardin  reached  the  settlement  on  the  following  day, 
and  heard  the  story  of  the  fire.  In  response  to  an  offer 
from  Will,  he  replied : 

"  No,  my  boy,  you  needn't  pay  for  the  dam  by  work- 


239 

ing  or  anything  else.  I'm  in  debt  to  you  for  saving  my 
timber  above  the  settlement,  instead."  Then  he  added, 
in  a  quiet  way,  characteristic  of  him,  "  It  seems  a  pity  if 
wit  like  yours  doesn't  get  its  full  growth." 

.  — Raymond  S.  Spears. 

MERRY  TWINKLE  AND  THE  DWARF  * 

There  was  a  dwarf  who  lived  not  long  ago,  in  a  corner 
of  a  strange  country  not  more  than  a  day's  journey  away. 
One  needs  only  to  set  out  toward  the  Twilight  Westward 
and  travel  until  he  comes  to  the  Deep  Shadows.  There 
he  will  find  the  bounds  of  the  land  of  dwarfs;  and  if  he 
knows  just  how  to  search  and  where  to  look,  he  may  get 
a  quiet  peep  at  the  Little  People  as  they  work  or  play,  eat 
and  drink  and  make  merry  in  their  own  country. 

The  dwarf  I  am  to  tell  you  about  was  not  the  jolly,  red- 
faced,  long-bearded  little  man  you  would  be  likely  to 
meet  in  almost  any  quiet,  early-evening  ramble  in  that 
country.  They  are  happy  little  fellows,  always  smiling 
with  good  humor  and  sometimes  laughing  aloud.  This 
dwarf's  face  was  wrinkled;  his  back  was  bent;  he  seemed 
to  take  no  pleasure  in  anything ;  and  he  was  in  every  way 
as  sad  as  any  dwarf  in  the  whole  country  of  the  Twilight, 
Westward. 

But  before  I  tell  you  what  was  the  matter  with  him,  T 
want  you  to  know  about  the  little  girl  who  Ijved  not  far 
from  the  land  of  dwarfs,  for,  of  course,  there  is  a  little 
girl  in  the  story. 

*  Reprinted  from  the  fttori/tdlers'  Magazine,  June,  1913 


240  STOKY-TELLING 

Her  mother  was  a  widow  who  lived  in  a  mite  of  a  houso 
in  the  edge  of  a  grove  of  fine  oak  trees  there  on  the  bor- 
ders of  Twilight  Westward.  Her  name  was  Mrs.  Trinkel, 
and  her  children  were  George  and  Mary  and  Alice. 
George,  a  stout,  hearty  lad  of  twelve,  helped  his  mother 
a  great  deal  as  she  worked  to  make  a  living  for  her  little 
family.  Alice  was  a  sweet  child  of  six.  Merry  Twinkle, 
as  she  was  called  because  of  her  cheery  smile,  was  ten. 
She  was  not  very  pretty,  but  everyone  became  so  fond  of 
her  that  at  last  her  real  name  was  forgotten. 

Mary's  best  dress  was  just  clean,  blue  gingham,  and 
her  shoes  were  not  bright  and  new ;  but  her  smile  made 
everybody  forget  that  she  did  not  have  pretty  clothes. 
She  was  nearly  always  happy;  but  sometimes  when  she 
went  to  play  with  other  children,  and  saw  what  pretty 
clothes  and  playthings  they  had,  it  almost  made  her  cry. 

One  afternoon  as  she  was  on  her  way  home  from  a 
children's  party,  she  kept  thinking  of  all  the  pretty 
clothes  the  other  children  had,  and  then  of  her  own  poor 
ones.  Two  tears  were  just  ready  for  a  race  down  her 
cheeks  when  she  came  to  the  crossroads.  She  was  just 
about  to  sit  down  on  a  big  stone  and  have  a  good  cry, 
when  she  noticed  someone  else  already  sitting  there.  She 
was  so  much  astonished  to  see  who  it  was  that  she  forgot 
all  about  crying. 

It  was  no  one  in  his  world  but  the  sad  dwarf,  and 
he  was  surely  a  sorry  little  figure  as  he  sat  there  upon 
the  big  stone.  His  wrinkled  little  face  looked  very  woe- 
begone, and  there  may  have  been  two  tears  in  his  eyes 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIRE  GIELS  241 

ready  for  a  race,  but  the  road  down  his  cheeks  was  so 
rough  that  they  were  discouraged  and  did  not  start. 

Merry  Twinkle  was  not  at  all  frightened  at  the  dwarf, 
for  he  was  so  small  that  he  could  not  have  caught  her  if 
he  tried;  and  then  he  did  not  look  as  if  he  wanted  to 
harm  anyone.  In  fact,  he  seemed  so  troubled  and  sad 
that  the  little  girl  really  wanted  to  help  him.  She  just 
stopped  and  spoke  kindly  to  him,  and  when  she  did  that, 
she  forgot  her  own  troubles  and  her  smiles  came  back 
again. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Dwarf,"  she  said;  and  he  said, 
"  Good  evening  "  to  her  as  pleasantly  as  he  could  when 
he  was  feeling  so  bad. 

"  Are  you  in  some  kind  of  trouble,  that  makes  you 
look  so  sad,  or  is  that  the  way  you  always  look?  "  the 
little  girl  asked. 

' '  I  am  in  trouble.    I  was  not  always  sad  as  I  am  now. ' ' 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  Mr.  Dwarf  and  I  will  see  if  there  is 
not  some  way  for  me  to  help  you,"  said  Merry  Twinkle 
kindly. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  he  replied,  "  but  I  shall  have  to  go 
hack  to  the  beginning  of  my  story,  so  you  will  understand 
;>ll  about  it. 

"  I  am  not  used  to  telling  stories,"  he  began,  "  but  I 
suppose  I  must  first  tell  you  my  name  and  where  I  live." 

"  Yes,"  said  Merry  Twinkle,  "  that's  the  way  a  story 
begins." 

"  Well,  I  am  called  the  Golden  Dwarf,  and  my  home  is 
yonder  in  the  Twilight  Westward.  I  am  rich  now,  but  I 


242  STORY-TELLING 

was  once  very  poor  and  had  to  work  long  and  hard 
before  I  became  rich.  It  was  while  I  was  at  work  that  my 
trouble  began." 

"  I  am.  called  the  Golden  Dwarf  because  I  have  always 
worked  with  gold  to  make  all  manner  of  fine  things  of 
it.  The  place  where  I  worked  was  all  dark  except  where 
it  was  lighted  by  the  fire  of  my  forge,  in  which  I  heated 
the  bright,  yellow  gold.  The  forge  blaze  made  a  light 
place  where  I  worked,  but  all  back  in  the  corners  of  the 
room  it  was  dark,  and  there  were  Moving  Shadows.  I 
worked  away  very  happily,  until  one  day  I  thought  of 
making  a  golden  lining  for  my  pocket.  I  was  just  finish- 
ing it  and  adjusting  it,  so  that  no  matter  how  many  gold 
coins  I  should  take  out  one  at  a  time,  there  would  always 
be  two  left  to  clink  together,  when  my  fire  began  to  die 
down,  and  it  began  to  grow  so  dark  that  I  could  not  see  my 
work  very  well.  I  had  to  look  very  closely,  and  that 
brought  my  face  very  near  the  hot  coals.  The  fire  was 
so  hot  that  I  was  afraid  my  smile  would  get  scorched;  so 
I  just  took  it  off  and  laid  it  back  in  one  corner  among 
the  Moving  Shadows." 

"  You  took  off  your  smile?  " 

"  Yes,  and  just  as  I  got  the  lining  arranged  so  that  a 
new  gold  piece  would  always  come  into  the  pocket  when 
I  took  one  out,  an  Evil  Genius  crept  in  among  the  Mov- 
ing Shadows  and  stole  my  smile  away." 

Here  the  Golden  Dwarf  sighed,  and  paused  to  see  if 
the  quiet  little  girl  heard;  and  when  he  saw  that  she  was 
eager  for  every  word,  he  went  on. 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND   CAMPFIRE  GIRLS  243 

' '  That  was  a  great  many  years  ago.  I  did  not  miss  my 
smile  very  much  at  first,  because  I  was  too  busy  taking 
gold  pieces  out  of  my  pocket  and  listening  for  the  clink 
of  the  new  ones  as  they  came  in.  I  took  them  out  one 
at  a  time  until  I  had  enough  to  buy  all  the  country  be- 
tween the  Flowing  River  and  the  Purple  Hills.  I  have 
everything  now  that  I  want  except  my  smile ;  but,  since  I 
have  lost  that,  I  have  grown  old  and  thin  and  wrinkled. 
I  am  afraid  that  I  can  never  again  be  fat  and  jolly,  as 
a  dwarf  should  be,  until  I  find  my  smile  again.  I  am 
miserable  without  it,  but  I  have  searched  for  it  high  and 
low,  and  I  cannot  find  a  trace  of  it. ' ' 

"  Poor  little  old  Dwarf,"  said  Merry  Twinkle.  "  I 
should  like  to  help  you,  but  I  don't  see  how  I  am  to  do  it." 

"  Well,"  said  Golden  Dwarf,  "  I  have  watched  you 
many  days,  and  have  learned  that  on  account  of  your 
cheery  smile  the  people  call  you  Merry  Twinkle.  I  saw 
you  pass  this  afternoon,  and  I  noticed  what  a  fine  smile 
you  were  wearing. ' ' 

' '  But  this  is  my  own  smile,  Mr.  Dwarf. ' ' 

"  Yes,"  he  continued  sadly,  "  I  know  it  is  yours; 
but  when  I  saw  that  your  shoes  were  not  shining  and 
new,  and  that  you  wore  just  a  clean,  blue  gingham  dress, 
I  knew  then  that  you  were  poor;  so  I  thought  that  you 
might  like  to  sell  your  smile  if  you  could  get  a  good  price 
for  it." 

Merry  Twinkle  looked  at  the  Dwarf  and  just  then  began 
to  think  how  funny  her  big  cheery  smile  would  look  upon 
his  wrinkled  little  face;  so  she  just  had  to  laugh  at  the 


244  STORY-TELLING 

thought  of  it.  Then  she  told  the  dwarf  that  her  smile 
would  be  too  big  for  such  a  little  fellow. 

"  Oh,"  said  Golden  Dwarf,  "  as  for  that,  I  think  you 
are  right ;  but  I  am  sure  I  could  get  used  to  the  smile 
by  wearing  it  a  little  while  at  a  time  until  I  grow  fat  and 
round-faced  and  jolly  enough  to  fit  it." 

Merry  Twinkle  thought  of  all  the  useful  and  pretty 
things  she  could  buy  for  herself  and  her  mother  and  the 
other  children,  if  she  sold  the  smile;  so,  at  last,  she 
agreed  to  let  the  Golden  Dwarf  have  it.  He  promised  that 
he  would  pay  her  for  it  by  giving  her  anything  she  might 
ask.  She  could  ask  for  but  one  thing  each  day,  but  as 
surely  as  asked  for,  the  thing  she  wanted  would  come  at 
twilight.  She  had  only  to  make  a  wish  at  the  time  of 
sunrise,  he  said,  and  then  wait  till  sunset  to  get  the  thing 
she  wanted ;  for  in  the  twilight  she  could  always  find  his 
gift  behind  the  big  stone  at  the  cross-roads. 

When  the  bargain  was  finished,  Merry  Twinkle  took  off 
her  smile  and  gave  it  to  the  Golden  Dwarf.  He  was  cer- 
tainly an  odd  figure  as  he  trudged  off  down  the  road 
toward  his  own  country. 

The  big  smile  did  not  fit  on  his  face.  It  was  so  loose 
that  it  kept  slipping  oft3,  and  he  had  to  put  it  back  several 
times  in  the  first  few  minutes.  It  was  the  first  smile  the 
Golden  Dwarf  had  owned  in  a  long  time ;  so  he  was  deter- 
mined to  wear  it  even  if  it  did  feel  awkward,  and  make 
him  seem  more  foolish  than  jolly.  Merry  Twinkle  was 
very  sober  without  her  smile  and  did  not  feel  at  all  natural ; 
but  when  she  thought  of  the  many  fine  things  she  could 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIRE  GIRLS  245 

get  for  her  mother  and  George  and  Alice,  she  was  sure 
she  would  feel  better  about  her  bargain  in  a  little  while. 

When  she  got  home,  she  found  her  mother  sitting  on 
the  doorstep  in  the  twilight,  resting  after  her  hard  work 
of  the  day.  The  little  girl  walked  up  to  her  mother  and 
sat  down  beside  her  before  she  began  to  speak. 

"  Mother,"  she  said  soberly,  "  I  met  a  dwarf  down  at 
the  cross-roads  and  sold  him  my  smile.  Now  you  will  not 
have  to  work  so  hard  any  more,  for  now  I  can  get  any- 
thing I  want  for  all  of  us  just  for  the  wishing." 

"  Oh  Mary,"  exclaimed  the  mother,  when  she  noticed 
that  her  little  daughter's  smile  was  gone.  "  I  am  afraid 
that  you  have  made  a  very  bad  bargain !  I  do  not  mind 
the  work  I  have  to  do  for  you  when  you  are  so  happy 
about  the  house;  but  I  can't  take  any  of  these  fine  things 
you  are  to  get  when  I  see  your  face  sad  and  without  your 
merry  twinkle.  The  people  will  forget  that  name  for  you 
now. 

******** 

Mary  went  to  all  the  children's  parties  now  and  wore 
prettier  clothes  than  any  of  her  playmates,  but  no  one 
called  her  Merry  Twinkle  any  more.  When  the  children 
played  or  laughed  or  danced,  all  she  could  do  was  to  sit 
silently  by,  or  tell  them  that  she  did  not  feel  well,  or  make 
some  other  excuse  to  keep  out  of  the  games.  She  knew 
that  if  she  played  and  did  not  laugh,  the  other  children 
would  see  that  she  really  had  no  smile  any  more.  She 
became  selfish.  Her  fine  clothes  did  not  make  her  look 
pretty,  for  she  did  not  have  a  happy  face  to  go  with  them. 


246  STORY-TELLING 

At  last  she  became  tired  of  her  bargain  with  the  Golden 
Dwarf  and  decided  to  wish  for  her  smile  at  the  next 
sunrise. 

She  did  not  feel  sure  that  the  Dwarf  would  send  it 
back  to  her,  and  she  thought  that  he  might  even  be  angry 
with  her  when  she  wished  for  it.  He  might  refuse  to. .send 
the  smile  back,  and  even  stop  sending  the  beautiful  things 
she  wanted  as  well.  She  knew,  though,  that  without  her 
smile  she  would  not  look  half  so  sad  in  her  simple  dress 
as  she  did  in  all  the  pretty  clothes  which  the  dwarf  had 
sent  her.  She  could  hardly  wait  for  the  twilight  the  day 
she  wished  for  her  smile.  As  soon  as  the  sun  had  set  she 
started  down  the  road.  When  she  came  to  the  crossing 
she  saw  the  dwarf  himself  sitting  on  the  flat  stone.  The 
smile  looked  a  little  better  on  him  than  it  did  when  he 
first  began  to  wear  it,  but  it  did  not  fit  very  well  yet. 

"  Good  evening,  Merry  Twinkle,"  the  Golden  Dwarf 
began. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Dwarf,"  she  responded  soberly, 
"  but  nobody  calls  me  that  any  more  since  my  smile  is 
gone. ' ' 

"  Then  you've  been  unhappy  with  all  the  pretty  things 
I  sent,  have  you?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mary  slowly,  "  I  liked  the  things  very 
well,  but  Mother  is  grieved,  and  will  not  take  any  of  the 
gifts;  and  George  and  Alice  are  becoming  greedy,  and  I 
am  selfish  now,  so  I  just  can't  be  happy  without  my  smile." 

"  Too  bad,"  said  the  dwarf  kindly.  "  But  is  that  all 
your  troubles?" 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND   CAMPFIRE  GIKLS  247 

"  No,  that  is  just  the  beginning.  I  am  lonesome  when 
the  other  children  laugh  and  play  and  sing,  and  I  cannot 
join  them.  I  am  afraid  they  will  learn  about  the  bargain 
I  have  made  and  will  whisper  to  each  other  behind  my 
back.  "  That's  Mary  Trinkel,  the  little  girl  who  sold  her 
smile.  We  used  to  call  her  Merry  Twinkle. ' ' 

"  Well,  well,"  sighed  the  dwarf,  "  I  have  not  been  happy 
myself.  This  smile  is  a  good  one,  but  it  does  not  fit  me. 
The  other  dwarfs  laugh  when  I  put  it  on,  and  say  that 
I  am  too  little  for  the  smile  I  wear.  It's  too  bad  that  I 
got  so  busy  while  making  the  golden  lining  for  my  pocket 
that  I  forgot  my  own  smile  and  let  the  Evil  Genius  carry 
it  away.  I  think  now  that  I  could  never  wear  any  smile 
comfortably  but  one  of  my  own."  "  You  have  always 
been  good  to  me,"  he  went  on,  "  and  I  should  always  like 
to  send  you  anything  you  want;  but  there  is  a  law  in  the 
Land  of  Twilight  Westward  which  declares  that  no  one 
may  send  anything  out  of  the  country  until  it  has  been 
paid  for.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do  though,"  he  added 
quickly,  looking  up  in  a  pleased  way  as  he  thought  of  it. 
' '  While  I  can 't  send  you  nice  things  out  of  our  country,  I 
can  make  your  wants  so  few  that  you  will  always  be  happy 
and  satisfied  with  what  you  have. ' ' 

"  When  I  get  my  smile  back,"  said  Mary,  "  I  am  sure 
I  shall  be  pleased  with  what  I  have,  even  though  I  have 
only  the  old  shoes  and  my  clean,  blue  gingham  dress." 

Then  the  dwarf  took  off  the  smile  and  gave  it  to  the 
little  girl,  and  she  put  it  on  and  was  happy  again.  In 
her  joy  she  began  to  feel  sorry  for  the  little  old  fellow, 


248  STORY-TELLING 

who  looked  as  thin  and  bent  and  pitiable  after  he  had 
taken  off  the  misfit  smile  as  he  did  the  first  time  she  saw 
him.  Indeed,  she  was  so  sorry  for  him  that  she  just 
stooped  down  with  her  own  sweet  smile  on  her  lips  and 
gave  him  such  a  hearty  kiss  that  a  little  smile  all  his  own 
began  to  come  around  his  mouth.  It  grew  very  fast,  and 
in  a  very  few  minutes  he  had  a  full-grown  smile  which 
came  from  the  little  start  Mary  had  left  on  his  lips  of 
her  own  free  will.  When  the  smile  had  grown  to  its  full 
size,  the  little  dwarf  himself  began  to  grow,  and  it  was 
not  long  until  he  stood  before  Mary  Trinkle  just  such  a 
smiling,  round-faced,  jolly  little  man  as  a  Golden  Dwarf 
should  be. 

He  was  so  surprised  and  happy  that  for  a  moment  he 
forgot  about  his  promise  to  the  little  girl;  then  it  came 
back  to  him,  and  he  said,  ' '  Now,  Merry  Twinkle,  everyone 
will  call  you  that  again,  for  you  are  now  just  as  sweet 
and  smiling  as  ever  you  were;  you  must  run  home  and 
make  your  mother  happy  again  with  your  smile.  I  will 
see  that  you  are  always  satisfied  with  what  you  have  so 
long  as  you  wear  it." 

Merry  Twinkle  thanked  the  dwarf  and  turned  into  the 
road  that  led  to  her  mother's  cottage.  The 'dwarf  sat  on 
the  stone  until  she  was  nearly  out  of  sight  in  the  coming 
darkness.  The  sound  of  a  happy  little  song  came  to 
him  as  he  started  down  the  road  toward  the  Twilight  West- 
ward, smiling  with  a  smile  of  his  very  own. 

— Allen  Cross. 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIRE  GIRLS  249 

THE  VISION  OF  ANTON,  THE  CLOCK-MAKER  * 

Once  upon  a  time  there  lived  a  near-sighted  and  obscure 
clock-maker  in  an  ancient  town  in  Flanders.  It  was  in 
1400  and  something,  at  about  the  time  when  new  conti- 
nents were  being  discovered,  and  old  continents  were  being 
ransacked  for  whatever  might  serve  to  enrich  the  life  of 
Europe.  We  call  it  the  period  of  the  Renaissance;  and 
this  is  the  story  of  the  Renaissance  of  Anton,  the  Flemish 
Clock-Maker. 

Anton  was  apprentice  to  an  old  craftsman  who  made 
clocks  to  help  very  rich  people  to  know  the  time  of  day. 
No  one  but  the  rich  could  afford  to  buy  clocks  in  those 
days ;  so  the  old  clock-maker  needed  but  one  assistant.  They 
were  crude  clocks  with  but  one  hand,  but  they  served  the 
purpose.  Anton,  however,  had  a  soul  in  his  body,  and  he 
became  very  tired  of  bending  eternally  over  his  work  bench, 
making  one-handed  clocks  for  people  he  didn't  know.  His 
^as  not  a  restless  sort  of  soul,  but  a  starved  one,  and  it 
•lidn't  know  how  to  show  Anton  the  way  to  better  things 

So  Anton  decided  to  find  out  for  himself.  As  he  went 
about  the  streets  of  a  Sunday,  he  heard  of  the  good  gray 
monks  that  lived  beyond  the  hill.  He  was  told  that  they 
.were  wise  and  kind,  and  that  they  made  sure  of  their 
entrance  into  Heaven  by  many  prayers  and  much  fasting. 
They  were  so  good  that  they  had  time  enough  left  from  their 
prayers  to  engage  in  scholarly  pursuits.  In  short,  they 

*  Reprinted  from  "The  Richer  Life,"  by  permission  of  Mr. 
Walter  A.  Dyer  and  The  Pilgrim  Press.  Copyrighted. 


250  STOEY-TELLING 

lived  an  ideal  kind  of  existence  and  one  that  Anton  thought 
would  satisfy  the  cravings  of  his  soul. 

So  one  day  Anton  left  the  old  clock-maker  and  journeyed 
over  the  hill  to  the  monastery  of  the  good  gray  monks. 
They  took  him  in  as  a  lay  brother  and  set  him  to  weeding 
the  garden ;  but  soon  they  learned  that  he  was  skilled  with 
tools,  and  they  gave  him  the  task  of  building  the  new  altar 
in  the  chapel. 

When  the  altar  was  nearly  finished,  the  abbot  of  the  mon- 
astery came  to  Anton  and  said :  ' '  My  son,  I  perceive  that 
thou  hast  much  cunning.  Canst  thou  carve  a  legend  for 
the  front  of  the  altar?  " 

"  I  can,  Father,"  said  Anton. 

So  the  abbot  sought  for  a  legend  that  would  fit  the  space 
on  the  front  of  the  altar,  and  after  much  searching  he 
brought  to  Anton  this : 

"  Where  there  is  no  Vision,  the  people  perish." 

Anton  accordingly  selected  a  piece  of  hard,  close-grained 
oak,  and  began  to  carve  the  legend.  Now  Anton  possessed 
enough  of  the  craftsman's  soul  to  make  him  strive  to  carve 
the  legend  well,  and  he  spent  many  days  and  took  infinite 
pains.  And  as  he  worked  he  said  the  words  over  and  over 
to  himself: 

"  Where  there  is  no  Vision,  the  people  perish." 

He  found  himself  wondering  what  these  words  meant; 
and  as  he  carved,  his  perplexity  grew  upon  him.  At  last 
he  could  contain  himself  no  longer,  and  he  went  to  the 
abbot, 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIEE  GIELS  251 

4  '•  Holy  Father, ' '  said  he,  "  I  am  much  troubled  to  know 
the  meaning  of  the  words  thou  hast  given  me  to  carve. ' ' 

Xow  the  abbot  had  selected  the  legend  without  great 
thought.  It  sounded  well,  and  it  was  the  right  length.  So 
he  made  answer  lightly. 

"  Those,  my  son,  are  the  words  of  a  Wise  Man  of  old. 
They  refer  to  that  divine  guidance  which  saves  men's  souls, 
and  which  comes  only  through  prayer  and  fasting. 

But  Anton  had  prayed  and  fasted,  and  no  Vision  had 
come  to  him.  He  asked  his  brother  monks  to  explain  the 
words  to  him,  but  they  could  not  satisfy  him,  and  Anton 
nearly  went  mad  in  the  endeavor  to  understand. 

When  the  carving  was  complete  and  the  altar  finished, 
Anton  found  no  more  work  that  interested  him.  He  looked 
about  him,  and  saw  the  monks  feasting  and  fasting,  pray- 
ing and  working,  but  he  could  not  discover  to  what  pur- 
pose. 

"  If  it  be  true  that  without  a  Vision  the  people  perish, ' ' 
he  said  to  himself,  ' '  shall  we  not  all  perish  ?  Not  even  the 
good  gray  monks  have  a  Vision.  They  know  not  what  a 
Vision  is. 

So  gradually  he  became  dissatisfied  with  the  monotonous 
life  of  the  good  gray  monks,  and  their  tiresome  prayers 
and  fastings  to  save  their  souls,  until  at  last  he  could 
stand  it  no  longer,  and,  never  having  taken  the  vows,  he 
left  the  monastery. 

It  was  then  that  he  bethought  himself  of  the  old  clock- 
maker  for  whom  he  had  worked  in  the  town.  He  remem- 
bered how  wise  he  was,  and  he  sought  the  familiar  shop. 


252  STOBY-TELLING 

The  old  clock-maker  was  glad  of  the  return  of  so  good  a 
workman,  and  he  received  him  joyfully.  Then  Anton  told 
his  story  —  how  he  had  longed  for  something  to  satisfy 
his  soul,  how  he  had  failed  to  find  it  even  among  the  good 
gray  monks,  and  how  the  words  of  the  legend  had  per- 
plexed him. 

Then  spake  the  wise  old  clock-maker. 

"  A  Vision,"  quoth  he,  "  is  something  good  and  lofty 
and  desirable  which  the  soul  may  see,  and  having  not, 
may  reach  forth  to  obtain.  Without  a  Vision  the  body 
may  live,  but  the  soul  is  starved.  It  is  death  in  life.  Men 
may  eat,  and  drink,  and  sleep,  and  laugh,  and  work,  and 
quarrel,  and  beget  children,  and  die,  but  all  to  no  purpose. 
They  might  as  well  die  in  the  first  place,  and  so  the  "Wise 
Man  saith,  '  Without  a  Vision,  the  people  perish/  ' 

' '  And  what  may  I  do  to  get  a  Vision,  that  I  may  live  ?  ' ' 
asked  Anton. 

' '  He  that  seeketh,  findeth, ' '  replied  the  clock-maker. 

"  Wh-ere  shall  I  seek?  "  asked  Anton. 

"  At  thine  own  work-bench,"  was  the  answer.  "Thou 
hast  been  to  the  monastery  of  the  good  gray  monks  and 
found  no  Vision  there.  Thou  may  'st  travel  the  world  over, 
and  no  Vision  will  reward  thy  search.  Look  within  thy 
heart,  Anton,  even  into  its  hidden  corners.  Whatsoever 
thou  findest  that  is  good  and  worthy,  examine  it.  Thus 
wilt  thou  find  thy  Vision.  Do  thy  daily  work,  Anton,  and 
let  thy  Vision  find  thee  working.  Then  shalt  thou  be  ready 
to  receive  it,  and  the  meaning  of  thy  life  and  work  will  be 
made  clear, to  thee." 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIRE  GIELS  253 

Anton  marveled  at  the  words  of  the  wise  old  man,  and 
pondered  them  in  his  heart  as  he  went  back  to  work  at  his 
bench.  And  every  day  he  talked  with  the  old  clock-maker, 
and  strove  to  learn,  until  at  last  the  light  broke  in  upon 
him,  and  he  understood.  For  the  meaning  of  the  legend 
appears  only  through  much  thought  and  self-examination. 

A  day  came  when  the  old  clock-maker  arose  no  more  from 
his  bed,  and  Anton  took  his  place  as  master  of  the  shop. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  I  will  see  if  I  can  find  a  way  to 
work  with  a  Vision,  for  I  know  it  is  better  than  to  work 
without  one." 

Every  Sunday  he  went  through  the  market  place  and 
talked  with  his  fellow  townsmen.  He  found  that  there 
were  many  things  good  and  lofty  and  desirable  that  were 
Jacking  in  their  lives,  but  he  could  discover  no  way  to 
-supply  them.  His  soul  was  reaching  forth,  but  it  had 
not  yet  laid  hold  on  a  Vision. 

One  day  in  his  shop,  however,  a  Vision  came  to  him. 
It  was  a  little  Vision,  to  be  sure,  but  it  was  a  beginning. 

' '  I  cannot  give  bread  to  all  the  poor,  or  bring  happiness 
to  the  miserable,"  he  said.  "  I  know  only  how  to  make 
clocks.  So  I  will  make  a  clock  for  the  people,  that  they 
may  have  what  only  the  rich  may  buy. " 

So  he  set  to  work  and  built  a  huge  clock,  with  two  hands, 
like  one  he  had  seen  that  came  from  the  South.  Its  face 
was  two  cubits  across,  and  it  was  fashioned  to  run  in  all 
weathers.  Beneath  the  face  he  carved  and  painted  a  legend : 
'  Where  there  is  no  Vision,  the  people  perish."  In 
twelve  months  the  clock  was  done,  and  he  received  per- 


2o4  STORY-TELLING 

mission  to  place  it  on  the  tower  in  the  market  place,  where 
all  men  might  see  it  and  read  the  time  of  day.  Many 
came  and  saw,  and  learned  to  tell  the  time  from,  the  fig- 
ures on  the  dial,  and  the  clock  became  famous  throughout 
Flanders. 

But  there  were  many  in  the  country-side  who  seldom 
came  to  the  town,  and  so  never  were  benefited  by  the  clock, 
and  it  occurred  to  Anton  one  day  that  the  reason  for  this 
was  that  the  roads  were  so  poor.  He  was  now  a  man  of 
substance  and  influence  in  the  town ;  so  he  went  to  the 
burgomaster  and  told  him  that  he  would  like  to  build 
better  roads  for  the  country  people  to  use  in  coming  to 
town.  It  took  him  a  long  time  to  make  the  fat  burgo- 
master see  this  Vision,  but  at  last  he  succeeded,  and  the 
upshot  of  the  matter  was  that  in  a  few  years  there  were 
fine,  smooth  roads  running  in  all  directions. 

Anton's  fame  spread  throughout  Flanders,  and  to  make 
a  long  story  short,  the  King  at  last  sent  for  him  and  made 
him  a  counselor  at  the  royal  palace.  This  gave  him  a 
chance  to  broaden  his  Vision.  He  saw  a  greater  and  hap- 
pier Flanders,  with  the  people  prosperous  in  trade  and 
industry  and  art,  and  when  he  died,  full  of  years  arid 
honor,  he  left  Flanders  a  better  place  because  of  his 
Vision.  Anton  the  Clock-Maker  was  one  who  did  not  live 
in  vain.  — Walter  A  .  Dyer. 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIRE  GIBLS  255 

THE  CLOSING  DOOR  * 

There  was  once  a  little  girl  (her  best  and  sweetest  name 
was  Little  Daughter),  who  had  a  dear  little  room,  all  her 
own,  which  was  full  of  treasures,  and  was  as  lovely  as 
love  could  make  it. 

You  never  could  imagine,  no  matter  how  you  tried,  a  room 
more  beautiful  than  hers;  for  it  was  white  and  shining 
from  the  snowy  floor  to  the  ceiling,  which  looked  as  if  it 
might  have  been  made  of  a  fleecy  cloud.  The  curtains  at 
the  windows  were  like  the  petals  of  a  lily,  and  the  little 
bed  was  like  swan's  down. 

There  were  white  pansies,  too,  that  bloomed  in  the  win- 
dows, and  a  dove  whose  voice  was  sweet  as  music;  and 
among  her  treasures  she  had  a  string  of  pearls  which  she 
was  to  wear  about  her  neck  when  the  king  of  the  country 
sent  for  her,  as  he  had  promised  to  do  some  day. 

This  string  of  pearls  grew  longer  and  more  beautiful 
as  the  little  girl  grew  older,  for  a  new  pearl  was  given 
her  as  soon  as  she  waked  up  each  morning;  and  every  one 
was  a  gift  from  this  king,  who  bade  her  keep  them  fair. 

Her  mother  helped  her  to  take  care  of  them  and  01  all 
the  other  beautiful  things  in  her  room.  Every  morning, 
after  the  new  pearl  was  slipped  on  the  string,  they  would 
set  the  room  in  order ;  and  every  evening  they  would  look 
over  the  treasures  and  enjoy  them  together,  while  they 
carefully  wiped  away  any  specks  of  dust  that  had  gotten 
in  during  the  day  and  made  the  room  less  lovely. 

*  Reprinted  from  "  Mother  Stories "  through  the  courtesy  of 
Miss  Maud  Lindsay,  and  Milton  Bradley  Co.  Copyrighted,  190<X 


256  STORY-TELLING 

There  were  several  doors  and  windows,  wliich  the  little 
girl  could  open  and  shut  just  as  she  pleased,  in  this  room ; 
but  there  was  one  door  which  was  always  open,  and  that 
was  the  one  which  led  into  her  mother's  room. 

No  matter  what  Little  Daughter  was  doing  she  was  hap- 
pier if  her  mother  was  near;  and  although  she  sometimes 
ran  away  into  her  own  room  and  played  by  herself,  she 
always  bounded  out  at  her  mother's  first  call,  and  sprang 
into  her  mother's  arms,  gladder  than  ever  to  be  with  her 
because  she  had  been  away. 

Now  one  day  when  the  little  girl  was  playing  alone, 
she  had  a  visitor  who  came  in  without  knocking  and  who 
seemed,  at  first,  very  much  out  of  place  in  the  shining 
white  room,  for  he  was  a  goblin  and  as  black  as  a  lump  of 
coal.  He  had  not  been  there  more  than  a  very  few  min- 
utes, however,  before  nearly  everything  in  the  room  began 
to  look  more  like  him  and  less  like  the  driven  snow ;  and 
although  the  little  girl  thought  that  he  was  very  strange 
and  ugly  when  she  first  saw  him,  she  soon  grew  used  to 
him,  and  found  him  an  entertaining  playfellow. 

She  wanted  to  call  her  mother  to  see  him ;  but  he  said : 
"  Oh!  no;  we  are  having  such  a  nice  time  together,  and 
she's  busy,  you  know."  So  the  little  girl  did  not  call; 
and  the  mother,  who  was  making  a  dress  of  fine  lace  for 
her  darling,  did  not  dream  that  a  goblin  was  in  the  little 
white  room. 

The  goblin  did  not  make  any  noise,  you  know,  for  k° 
tip-toed  all  the  time,  as  if  he  were  afraid ;  and  if  he  heard 
a  sound  he  would  jump.  But  he  was  a  merry  goblin,,  and 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIEE  GIRLS  257 

he  amused  the  little  girl  so  much  that  she  did  not  notice 
the  change  in  her  dear  room. 

The  curtains  grew  dingy,  the  floor  dusty,  and  the  ceiling 
looked  as  if  it  might  have  been  made  of  a  rain  cloud; 
but  the  child  played  on,  and  got  out  all  her  treasures  to 
show  to  her  visitor. 

The  pansies  drooped  and  faded,  the  white  dove  hid  its 
head  beneath  its  wing  and  moaned;  and  the  last  pearl  on 
the  precious  string  grew  dark  when  the  goblin  touched  it 
with  his  smutty  fingers. 

"  Oh,  dear  me,"  said  the  little  girl  when  she  saw  this, 
"  I  must  call  my  mother;  for  these  are  the  pearls  that  I 
must  wear  to  the  king 's  court,  when  he  sends  for  me. ' ' 

"  Never  mind,"  said  the  goblin,  "  we  can  wash  it,  and 
if  it  isn't  just  as  white  as  before,  what  difference  does  it 
make  about  one  pearl?  " 

"  But  mother  says  that  they  all  must  be  as  fair  as  the 
morning,"  insisted  the  little  girl,  ready  to  cry.  "  And 
what  will  she  say  when  she  sees  this  one  ?  ' ' 

"  You  shut  the  door,  then,"  said  the  goblin,  pointing 
to  the  door  that  had  never  been  closed,  ' '  and  I  '11  wash  the 
pearl."  So  the  little  girl  ran  to  close  the  door,  and  the 
goblin  began  to  rub  the  pearl ;  but  it  only  seemed  to  grow 
darker.  Now  the  door  had  been  open  so  long  that  it  was 
hard  to  move,  and  it  creaked  on  its  hinges  as  the  little 
girl  tried  to  close  it.  When  the  mother  heard  this  she 
looked  up  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  She  had  been 
thinking  about  the*  dress  which  she  was  making ;  but  when 
she  saw  the  closing  door,  her  heart  stood  still  with  fear; 


258.  STOEY-TELLING 

for  she  knew  that  if  it  once  closed  tight  she  might  never  be 
able  to  open  it  again. 

She  dropped  her  fine  laces  and  ran  towards  the  door, 
calling,  "  Little  Daughter!  Little  Daughter!  "Where  are 
you?  "  and  she  reached  out  her  hands  to  stop  the  door. 
But  as  soon  jas  the  little  girl  heard  that  loving  voice  she 
answered : 

* '  Mother,  oh !  Mother !  I  need  you  so !  my  pearl  is  turn- 
ing black  and  everything  is  wrong !  ' '  and,,  flinging  the  door 
wide  open,  she  ran  into  her  mother's  arms. 

When  the  two  went  together  into  the  little  room,  the 
goblin  had  gone.  The  pansies  now  bloomed  again,  and  the 
white  dove  cooed  in  peace;  but  there  was  much  work  for 
the  mother  and  daughter,  and  they  rubbed  and  scrubbed 
and  washed  and  swept  and  dusted,  till  the  room  was  so 
beautiful  that  you  would  not  have  known  that  a  goblin 
had  been  there  —  except  for  the  one  pearl,  which  was  a 
little  blue  always,  even  when  the  king  was  ready  for  Little 
Daughter  to  come  to  his  court,  although  that  was  not  until 
she  was  "a  very  old  woman. 

As  for  the  door,  it  was  never  closed  again;  for  Little 
Daughter  and  her  mother  put  two  golden  hearts  against 
it  and  nothing  in  this  world  could  have  shut  it  then. 

— Maud  Lindsay, 

THE  SELFISH  GIANT 

Every  afternoon,  as  they  were  coming  from  school,  the 
children  used  to  go  and  play  in  the  Giant 's  garden. 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIRE  GIRLS  259 

It  was  a  large  lovely  garden,  with  soft  green  grass. 
Here  and  there  over  the  grass  stood  beautiful  flowers  like 
stars,  and  there  were  twelve  peach  trees  that  in  the  spring- 
time broke  out  into  delicate  blossoms  of  pink  and  pearl, 
and  in  the  autumn  bore  rich  fruit.  The  birds  sat  on  the 
trees  and  sang  so  sweetly  that  the  children  used  to  stop 
their  games  in  order  to  listen  to  them.  "  How  happy  we 
are  here !  ' '  they  cried  to  each  other. 

One  day  the  giant  came  back.  He  had  been  to  visit  his 
friend,  the  Cornish  ogre,  and  had  stayed  with  him  for 
seven  years.  After  the  seven  years  were  over  he  had  said 
all  that  he  had  to  say,  for  his  conversation  was  limited, 
and  he  determined  to  return  to  his  own  castle.  When 
he  arrived  he  saw  the  children  playing  in  the  garden. 

"  What  are  you  doing  there?  "  he  cried  in  a  very  gruff 
voice,  and  the  children  ran  away.  . 

' '  My  own  garden  is  my  own  garden, ' '  said  the  Giant ; 
"  any  one  can  understand  that,  and  I  will  allow  nobody 
to  play  in  it  but  myself."  So  he  built  a  high  wall  all 
round  it,  and  put  up  a  notice-board. 

TRESPASSERS 

WILL  BE 
PROSECUTED 

He  was  a  very  selfish  giant. 

The  poor  children  had  now  nowhere  to  play.  They  tried 
to  play  on  the  road,  but  the  road  was  very  dusty  and 
full  of  hard  stones,  and  they  did  not  like  it.  They  used 


260  STORY-TELLING 

to  wander  round  the  high  wall  when  their  lessons  were 
over,  and  talk  about  the  beautiful  garden  inside.  "  How 
happy  we  were  there, ' '  they  said  to  each  other. 

Then  the  Spring  came,  and  all  over  the  country  there 
were  little  blossoms  and  little  birds.  Only  in  the  garden  of 
the  Selfish  Giant  it  was  still  winter.  The  birds  did  not 
care  to  sing  in  it,  as  there  were  no  children,  and  the  trees 
forgot  to  blossom.  Once  a  beautiful  flower  puts  its  head 
out  from  the  grass,  but  when  it  saw  the  notice-board  it  was 
so  sorry  for  the  children  that  it  slipped  back  into  the 
ground  again,  and  went  off  to  sleep.  The  only  people  who 
were  pleased  were  the  Snow  and  the  Frost.  "  Spring 
has  forgotten  this  garden,"  they  cried,  "so  we  will  live 
here  all  the  year  round. ' '  The  Snow  covered  up  the  grass 
with  her  great  white  cloak,  and  the  Frost  painted  all  the 
trees  silver.  Then  they  invited  the  North  Wind  to  stay 
with  them,  and  he  came.  He  was  wrapped  in  furs,  and 
he  roared  all  day  about  the  garden,  and  blew  the  chimney- 
pots down.  "  This  is  a  delightful  spot,"  he  said;  "  we 
must  ask  the  Hail  on  a  visit."  So  the  Hail  came.  Every 
day  for  three  hours  he  rattled  on  the  roof  of  the  castle  till 
he  broke  most  of  the  slates,  and  then  he  ran  round  and 
round  the  garden  as  fast  as  he  could  go.  He  was  dressed 
in  gray,  and  his  breath  was  like  ice. 

"  I  can  not  understand  why  the  Spring  is  so  late  in 
coming,"  said  the  Selfish  Giant,  as  he  sat  at  the  window 
and  looked  out  at  his  cold  white  garden ;  "I  hope  there 
will  be  a  change  in  the  weather." 

But  the   Spring  never   came,   nor   the   Summer.      The 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND  CAMPFIRE  GIELS  261 

Autumn  gave  golden  fruit  to  every  garden,  but  to  the 
Giant's  garden  she  gave  none.  "  He  is  too  selfish,"  she 
said.  So  it  was  always  winter  there,  and  the  North  Wind, 
and  the  Hail,  and  the  Frost,  and  the  Snow  danced  about 
through  the  trees.  • 

One  morning  the  Giant  was  lying  awake  in  bed  when 
he  heard  some  lovely  music.  It  sounded  so  sweet  to  his 
ears  that  he  thought  it  must  be  the  King's  musicians  pass- 
ing by.  It  was  really  only  a  little  linnet  singing  outside 
his  window,  but  it  was  so  long  since  he  had  heard  a  bird 
sing  in  his  garden  that  it  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  most 
beautiful  music  in  the  world.  Then  the  Hail  stopped 
dancing  over  his  head,  and  the  North  Wind  ceased  roaring, 
and  a  delicious  perfume  came  to  him  through  the  open 
casement.  "  I  believe  the  Spring  has  come  at  last,"  said 
the  Giant ;  and  he  jumped  out  of  bed  and  looked  out. 

What  did  he  see  ? 

He  saw  a  most  wonderful  sight.  Through  a  little  hole  in 
the  wall  the  children  had  crept  in,  and  they  were  sitting 
in  the  branches  of  the  trees.  In  every  tree  that  he  could 
see  there  was  a  little  child.  And  the  trees  were  so  glad 
to  have  the  children  back  again  that  they  had  covered 
themselves  with  blossoms,  and  were  waving  their  arms 
gently  above  the  children's  heads.  The  birds  were  flying 
about  and  twittering  with  delight,  and  the  flowers  were 
looking  up  through  the  green  grass  and  laughing.  It  was 
a  lovely  scene;  only  in  one  corner  it  was  still  winter.  It 
was  the  farthest  corner  of  the  garden,  and  in  it  was 
standing  a  little  boy.  He  was  so  small  that  he  could  not 


262  STORY-TELLING 

reach  up  to  the  branches  of  the  tree,  and  he  was  wander- 
ing all  around  it,  crying  bitterly.  The  poor  tree  was  still 
quite  covered  with  frost  and  snow,  and  the  North  Wind  was 
blowing  and  roaring  above  it.  "  Climb  up!  little  boy," 
said  the  Tree,  and  it  bent  its  branches  down  as  low  as 
it  could;  but  the  boy  was  too  tiny. 

And  the  Giant's  heart  melted  as  he  looked  out.  '  How 
selfish  I  have  been !  "  he  said ;  ' '  now  I  know  why  the 
Spring  would  not  come  here.  I  will  put  that  poor  little 
boy  on  the  top  of  the  tree,  and  then  I  will  knock  down 
the  wall,  and  my  garden  shall  be  the  children 's  playground 
forever  and  ever. ' '  He  was  really  very  sorry  for  what  he 
had  done. 

So  he  crept  downstairs  and  opened  the  front  door  quite 
softly,  and  went  out  into  the  garden.  But  when  the  chil- 
dren saw  him  they  were  so  frightened  that  they  all  ran 
away,  and  the  garden  became  winter  again.  Only  the 
little  boy  did  not  run,  for  his  eyes  were  so  full  of  tears 
that  he  did  not  see  the  Giant  coming.  And  the  Giant 
strode  up  behind  him  and  took  him  gently  in  his  hand, 
and  put  him  up  into  the  tree.  And  the  tree  broke  at  once 
into  blossom,  and  the  birds  came  and  sang  on  it,  and  the 
little  boy  stretched  out  his  two  arms  and  flung  them  round 
|  the  Giant's  neck  and  kissed  him.  And  the  other  children, 
when  they  saw  that  the  Giant  was  not  wicked  any  longer, 
came  running  back,  and  with  them  came  the  Spring.  "  It 
is  your  garden  now,  little  children, ' '  said  the  Giant,  and  he 
took  a  great  axe  and  knocked  down  the  wall.  And  when  the 
people  were  going  to  market  at  twelve  o'clock  they  found 


BOY  SCOUTS  AND   CAMPFIRE  GIRLS  263 

the  Giant  playing  with  the  children  in  the  most  beautiful 
garden  they  had  ever  seen. 

All  day  long  they  played,  and  in  the  evening  they 
came  to  the  Giant  to  bid  him  good-bye. 

"  But  where  is  your  little  companion?  "  he  said;  "  the 
boy  I  put  into  the  tree."  The  Giant  loved  him  the  best 
because  he  had  kissed  him. 

' '  We  don 't  know, ' '  answered  the  children ; ' '  he  has  gone 
away. ' ' 

' '  You  must  tell  him  to  be  sure  to  come  here  to-morrow, ' ' 
said  the  Giant.  But  the  children  said. that  they  did  not 
know  where  he  lived,  and  had  never  seen  him  before ; 
and  the  Giant  felt  very  sad. 

Every  afternoon,  when  school  was  over,  the  children  came 
and  played  with  the  Giant.  But  the  little  boy  whom  the 
Giant  loved  was  never  seen  again.  The  Giant  was  very 
kind  to  all  the  children,  yet  he  longed  for  his  first  little 
friend,  and  often  spoke  of  him.  "  How  I  should  like  to 
see  him !  "  he  used  to  say. 

Years  went  over,  and  the  Giant  grew  very  old  and 
feeble.  He  could  not  play  about  any  more ;  so  he  sat  in  a 
huge  armchair,  and  watched  the  children  at  their  games, 
and  admired  his  garden.  "  I  have  many  beautiful  flowers," 
he  said ;  ' '  but  the  children  are  the  most  beautiful  flowers 
of  all." 

One  winter  morning  he  looked  out  of  his  window  as  he 
was  dressing.  He  did  not  hate  the  Winter  now,  for  he  knew 
that  it  was  merely  the  Spring  asleep,  and  that  the  flowers 
were  resting. 


264  STORY-TELLING 

Suddenly  he  rubbed  his  eyes  in  wonder,  and  looked  and 
looked.  It  certainly  was  a  marvelous  sight.  In  the  far- 
thest corner  of  the  garden  was  a  tree  quite  covered  with 
lovely  white  blossoms.  Its  branches  were  all  golden,  and 
silver  fruit  hung  down  from  them,  and  underneath  it  stood 
the  little  boy  he  had  loved. 

Downstairs  ran  the  Giant  in  great  joy,  and  out  into  the 
garden.  He  hastened  across  the  grass,  and  came  near 
to  the  child.  And  when  he  came  quite  close  his  face 
grew  red  with  anger,  and  he  said,  "  Who  hath  dared  to 
wound  thee?  "  F.or  on  the  palms  of  the  child's  hands  were 
the  prints  of  two  nails,  and  the  prints  of  two  nails  were  on 
the  little  feet. 

' '  Who  hath  dared  to  wound  thee  1  "  cried  the  Giant ; 
"  tell  me,  that  I  may  take  my  big  sword  and  slay  him." 

"  Nay !  "  answered  the  child ;  "  but  these  are  the  wounds 
of  Love." 

"  Who  art  thou ?  "said  the  Giant,  and  a  strange  awe  fell 
on  him,  and  he  knelt  before  the  little  child. 

And  the  child  smiled  on  the  Giant,  and  said  to  him,  "  You 
let  me  play  once  in  your  garden;  to-day  you  shall  come 
with  me  to  my  garden,  which  is  Paradise." 

And  when  the  children  ran  in  that  afternoon,  they  found 
the  Giant  lying  dead  under  the  tree,  all  covered  with  white 
blossoms.  — Oscar  Wilde. 


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265 


266  STORY-TELLING 

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Holbrook,  Florence,  "The  Book  of  Nature  Myths."     65 

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BIBLIOGRAPHY  267 

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Lyman,  Edna,  "Story  Telling,  What  to  Tell  and  How  to 

Tell  It."    75  cents,  A.  C.  McClurg  &  Co.    1910. 
Mabie,  Hamilton  Wright,  "Heroes  Every  Child  Should 

Know."    50  cents,  H.  B.  Claflin  Co.    1913. 
Mabie,  Hamilton  Wright,  and  Stephens,  Kate,  "Heroines 

Every  Child  Should  Know."    50  cents,  H.  B.  Claflin  Co. 

1913. 
Mabie,  Hamilton  Wright,  "Legends  Every  Child  Should 

Know."    90  cents,  Doubleday  &  Co.    1908. 
Mabie,  Hamilton   Wright,   "Myths   Every   Child  Should 

Know."    50  cents,  H.  B.  Claflin  Co.    1913. 
Mabie,  Hamilton  Wright,  "Norse  Stories  Ketold  from  the 

Eddas."    40  cents,  Rand  McNally  &  Co.    1902. 
Maeterlinck,  Madame  Maurice,  "The  Children's  Bluebird." 

$2.50,  Dodd,  Mead  &  Co.    1913. 
Martin,  Winona  C.,  "The  Story  of  King  Arthur."     60 

cents,  Story-Tellers  Co. 
Miller,  Olive  Thome,  "The  Second  Book  of  Birds."    $1.00, 

Houghton  Mifflin  Co.     1901. 

Miller,  Joaquin,  "True  Bear  Stories."    $1.00,  Rand  Mc- 
Nally Co.    1900. 

Mills,  Enos  A., ' '  Wild  Life  on  the  Rockies. ' '    $1.75,  Hough- 
ton  Mifflin  Co.    1909. 
Mills,  Enos  A.,  "In  the  Beaver  World."    $1.75,  Houghton 

Mifflin  Co.    1913. 
Olcott,  Frances  Jenkins,  "The  Arabian  Nights."     $1.50, 

Henry  Holt  &  Co.    1913. 


268  STORY-TELLING 

Olcott,  Frances  Jenkins,  "Good  Stories  for  Great  Hol- 
idays." $2.00,  Houghton  Mifflin  Co.  1914. 

Partridge,  Emelyn  N.  and  George  E.,  "  Story-Telling  in 
Home  and  School."  $1.25,  Sturgis  &  Walton  Co.  1913. 

Partridge,  E.  N.,  "Glooscap,  the  Great  Chief,  and  Other 
Stories."  $1.25,  Sturgis  &  Walton  Co. 

Poulsson,  Emilie,  "In  the  Child's  World."  $2.00,  Milton 
Bradley  Co. 

Proudfoot,  Andrea  Hofer,  "Child's  Christ-Tales."  $1.00, 
A.  Flannagan  Co. 

Richards,  Laura  E.,  "Florence  Nightingale."  $1.25,  Ap- 
pleton  &  Co.  1909. 

Richards,  Laura  E.,  "The  Golden  Windows."  $1.00,  Lit- 
tle, Brown  &  Co.  1903. 

Richards,  Laura  E.,  "Five  Minute  Stories."  $1.25,  Dana 
Estes  &  Co. 

Roulet,  Mary  F.  Nixon-,  "Japanese  Folk  Stories  and  Fairy 
Tales."  40  cents,  American  Book  Co.  1908. 

Scobey,  Katherine  Lois,  and  Home,  Olive  Brown,  "Stories 
of  Great  Musicians. ' '  40  cents,  American  Book  Co.  1905. 

Seton,  Ernest  Thompson,  "Lives  of  the  Hunted."  $2.00, 
Scribner. 

Seton,  Ernest  Thompson,  "Wild  Animals  at  Home."  $1.50, 
Doubleday,  Page  &  Co.  1913. 

Sharman,  Lyon,  "Bamboo,  Tales  of  the  Orient  Born." 
$1.00,  Paul  Elder  &  Co.  1914. 

Sly,  William  J.,  "World  Stories  Retold."  $1.00,  Griffith  & 
Rowland  Press.  1914. 

Stawett,  Mrs.  Eodolpha,  "My  Days  with  the  Fairies." 
$1.50,  George  Doran  Co. 

Steedman,  Amy,  "In  God's  Garden."  $1.25,  George  W. 
Jacobs  &  Co. 

Tappan,  Eva  March, ' '  Robin  Hood,  His  Book. ' '  $1.50,  Lit- 
tle, Brown  &  Co.  1903. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  269 

Upton,  George  P.,  "William  Tell,  Life  Stories  for  Young 

People."    50  cents,  Putnam. 
Van  Dyke,  Henry,  "The  Blue  Flower."    $1.50,  Scribner. 

1902. 
Wade,   Mrs.   Mary  Hazelton,   "The  Wonder   Workers." 

$1.00,  Little,  Brown  &  Co.    1912. 
Wheelock,  Elizabeth  M.,  "Stories  of  Wagner  Operas,  Told 

for  Children."    $1.25,  Bobbs-Merrill  Co.    1910. 
White,  William  Allen,  "The  Court  of  Boyville."    $1.50, 

MacMillan  &  Co. 
Wiggin,  Kate  Douglas,  and  Smith,  Nora  Archibald,  "Tales 

of  Laughter."    $1.50,  Doubleday,  Page  &  Co.    1908. 
Wiggin,  Kate  Douglas,  and  Smith,  Nora  Archibald,  "The 

Story  Hour."    Houghton  Mifflin  Co. 
Wilde,  Oscar, ' '  The  Happy  Prince  and  Other  Fairy  Tales. ' ' 

$1.50,  Frederick  A.  Stokes. 
Williston,  Teresa,  "Japanese  Fairy  Tales."    Series  First 

and  Second.    45  cents,  Rand  McNally  Co.    1904. 
Wiltse,  Sara  E.,  "Hero  Folk  of  Ancient  Britain."     45 

cents,  Ginn  &  Co.    1911. 
Wijche,  Richard  Thomas,  "Some  Great  Stories  and  How 

to  Tell  Them."    $1.00,  Newson  &  Co.    1910. 
Zitkala-Sa,  "Old  Indian  Legends."    75  cents,  Ginn  &  Co. 

1901. 


STORIES  FOR  TELLING 

Arranged  by  School  Grades 
GRADE  I 

Fairy  Tales  and  Folk  Lore. 

Nimmy,   Nimmy   Not.      "Story-Telling   in    Home    and 

School,"  E.  N.  and  G.  E.  Partridge. 
The  Foolish  Bears.    Storytellers'  Magazine,  March,  1914. 
The  Straw,  the  Coal  and  the  Bean.    "For  the  Children's 

Hour,"  Bailey  and  Lewis. 
The  Gingerbread  Boy.     "For  the   Children's  Hour," 

Bailey  and  Lewis. 
The  Princess  and  Her  Golden  Ball.     "  'Tell  It  Again'  . 

Stories,"  Dillingliam  and  Emerson. 
Cinderella  and  the  Glass   Slipper.     "  'Tell  It  Again' 

Stories,"  Dillingnam  and  Emerson. 
Thumbelina.     "Stories  and  Story-Telling,"  Angela  M. 

Keyes. 
The   Fairy   Horseshoe.     "Stories   and   Story- Tel  ling, " 

Angela  M.  Keyes. 

Nature  Stories  and  Animal  Stories. 

How   the    Peacock   Got   His    Tail.     "  'Tell    It    Again' 

Stories,"  Dillingnam  and  Emerson. 
Four  Little  Pigs.    ' '  '  Tell  It  Again '  Stories, ' '  Dillingfiam 

and  Emerson. 

The  Little  Acorn.    "  'Tell  It  Again'  Stories,"  Dilling- 
liam and  Emerson. 

Mrs.  Tabbey  Gray.     "Mother  Stories,"  Maud  Lindsay. 

270 


STORIES  FOR  TELLING  271 

The  Little  Gray  Pony.  "Mother  Stories,"  Maud  Lind- 
say. 

Inside  the  Garden  Gate.  ' '  Mother  Stories, ' '  Maud  Lind- 
say. 

Irmgard  's  Cow.    ' '  More  Mother  Stories, ' '  Maud  Lindsay. 

Dumpy,  the  Pony.  ' '  More  Mother  Stories, ' '  Maud  Lind- 
say. 

Patsy,  the  Calf.    ' '  More  Mother  Stories, ' '  Maud  Lindsay. 

For  a  fuller  list  see  "Index  to  Short  Stories"  by  Salisbury  and 
Beckwith,  published  by  Row,  Peterson  &  Co. 

The  White  Dove.    "More  Mother  Stories,"  Maud  Lind- 
say. 
Why  the  Wind  Changed.    "My  Days  with  the  Fairies," 

Mrs.  Rodolph  Stawell. 
The  Little  Brown  Fairy.    Storytellers'  Magazine,  June, 

1914. 
The  Cloud.    "Stories  to  Tell  to  Children,"  Sara  Cone 

Bryant. 
Why  the  Bear  Sleeps  All  Winter.    "Firelight  Stories," 

Carolyn  S.  Bailey. 
Pussy   Willows.     "The   Art   of   Story- Telling,"   Julia 

Darrow  Cowles. 
The  Chestnut  Boys.     "In  the  Child's  World,"  Emilie 

Poulsson. 
Baggylug.     "How  to  Tell  Stories  to  Children,"  Sara 

Cone  Bryant. 

Holiday  Stories. 

The  Fairy's  New  Year  Gift.    "In  the  Child's  World," 

Emilie  Pouhson. 
Elaine 's  Valentines.    ' '  '  Tell  It  Again '  Stories, ' '  Dilling- 

Tiam  and  Emerson. 
Golden  Cobwebs.    "How  to  Tell  Stories  to  Children," 

Sara  Cone  Bryant. 


272  STORY-TELLING 

The  Story  of  Gretchen.    "Mother  Stories,"  Maud  Lind- 
say. 

The  Stars  and  the  Child.  ' '  Child 's  Christ- Tales, ' '  Andrea 
Hofer  Proudfoot. 

Herr  Oster  Hase.    "For  the  Children's  Hour,"  Bailey 
and  Lewis. 

Little  George  Washington.    "The  Story  Hour,"  Wiggin 
and  Smith. 

Great  George  Washington.    "The  Story  Hour,"  Wiggin 
and  Smith. 

The  First  Thanksgiving  Day.    "The  Story  Hour,"  Wig- 
gin  and  Smith. 

The  Christmas  Cake.     "More  Mother  Stories,"  Maud- 
Lindsay. 

The  Christmas  Stocking.    "More  Mother  Stories,"  Maud 
Lindsay. 

The  Visit.    ' '  More  Mother  Stories, ' '  Maud  Lindsay. 

The  Turkey's  Nest.  "More  Mother  Stories,"  Maud  Lind- 
say. 

The  First  Flag  of  the  United  States.    "  'Tell  It  Again' 
Stories,"  Dillingham  and  Emerson. 

The  Story  of  Christmas.    "How  to  Tell  Stories  to  Chil- 
dren," Sara  Cone  Bryant. 
Ethical  and  Biblical. 

Moses  in  the  Bulrushes.    "  'Tell  It  Again'  Stories,"  Dil- 
lingham and  Emerson. 

Noah  and  the  Ark.    "  'Tell  It  Again'  Stories,"  Dilling- 
ham and  Emerson. 

Dilly  Dally.    "  'Tell  It  Again'  Stories,"  Dillingham  and 
Emerson. 

The  Bell  of  Atri.    ' '  '  Tell  It  Again '  Stories, ' '  Dillingham 
and  Emerson. 

The  Cooky.    "The  Golden  Windows,"  Laura  E.  Rich- 
ards. 


STORIES  FOR  TELLING  273 

The  Pig  Brother.     "The  Golden  Windows/'  Laura  E. 

Richards. 
The  Little  Rabbit  who  Wanted  Red  Wings.    "For  the 

Story  Teller, ' '  Carolyn  S.  Bailey. 

Humorous. 

How  Brother  Rabbit  Fooled  the  Whale  and  the  Elephant. 
' '  Stories  to  Tell  to  Children, ' '  Sara  Cone  Bryant. 

The  Little  Jackal  and  the  Camel.  "Stories  to  Tell  to 
Children,"  Sara  Cone  Bryant. 

How  Drakesbill  Went  to  the  King.  ' '  Firelight  Stories, ' ' 
Carolyn  S.  Bailey. 

The  Kid  who  Would  Not  Go.  "Firelight  Stories,"  Car- 
olyn S.  Bailey. 

The  Travels  of  a  Fox.  "For  the  Story  Teller,"  Carolyn 
8.  Bailey. 

GRADE  II 

Fairy  Tales  and  Folk  Lore. 

The  Stone  Lion.    ' '  Story- Telling  in  Home  and  School, ' ' 

E.  N.  and  G.  E.  Partridge. 
The  Two  Young  Lions.    Storytellers'  Magazine,  March, 

1914. 

Talking  Bells.    Storytellers'  Magazine,  September,  1914. 
Anders'  New  Cap.     Storytellers'  Magazine,  November, 

1914. 
The  Choice  of  the  Princess.    "Japanese  Folk  Stories  and 

Fairy  Tales,"  Mary  F.  Nixon-Boulet. 
The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin  Town.    ' '  How  to  Tell  Stories 

to  Children,"  Sara  Cone  Bryant. 
Hans  and  the  Wonderful  Flower.    "For  the  Children's 

Hour,"  Bailey  and  Lewis. 
Rumpel-Stilts-Kin.    "For  the  Children's  Hour,"  Bailey 

and  Lewis. 


274  STOKY-TELLING 

The  House  in  the  Wood.    "For  the  Children's  Hour," 

Bailey  and  Lewis. 
Fairy  Linen.  ' '  '  Tell  It  Again '  Stories, ' '  Dillingliam  and 

Emerson. 

Nature  Stories  and  Animal  Stories. 

Why  the  Sea  Is  Salt.     "The  Book  of  Nature  Myths," 

Florence  Holbrook. 
Why  the  Bear  Has  a  Short  Tail.    "The  Book  of  Nature 

Myths, "  Florence  Holbrook. 

The  Quarrel  of  the  Rainbow  Colors.    Storytellers'  Mag- 
azine, September,  1914. 
The  Legend  of  the  Dandelion.     "For  the   Children's 

Hour,"  Bailey  and  Lewis. 
Opechee,  the  Eobiii  Redbreast.  ' '  Wigwam  Stories, "  Mary 

Catlierine  Judd. 
The  Woodpecker.     "Story  Telling,  What  to  Tell  and 

How  to  Tell  It,"  Edna  Lyman. 
The  Tongue-Cut  Sparrow.    ' '  Story  Telling,  What  to  Tell 

and  How  to  Tell  It,"  Edna  Lyman. 
How  the  Water  Lily  Came.    "Wigwam  Stories,"  Mary 

Catherine  Judd. 
The  Maple-Leaf  and  the  Violet.     "The  Story  Hour," 

Wiggin  and  Smith. 
Why  the  Morning-Glory  Climbs.    "How  to  Tell  Stories 

to  Children,"  Sara  Cone  Bryant. 
The  Story  of  the  First  Humming-Bird.     "The  Book  of 

Nature  Myths,"  Florence  Holbook. 
The  Story  of  the  Vine  Dryad.     Storytellers'  Magazine, 

November,  1914. 

Hans  and  His  Dog.    ' '  More  Mother  Stories, ' '  Maud  Lind- 
say. 
The  Little  Shepherd.     "More  Mother  Stories,"  Maud 

Lindsay. 


STORIES  FOR  TELLING  275 

Mrs.   Specklety  Hen.     "More  Mother  Stories,"  Maud 

Lindsay. 
Johnny  Bear.    ' '  Lives  of  the  Hunted, ' '  Ernest  Thompson 

Seton. 

Holiday  Stories. 

The  Forest  Full  of  Friends.    "Why  the  Chimes  Rang," 

Raymond  McDonald  Alden. 
The  Marriage  of  Mondahmin.    ' '  "Wigwam  Stories, ' '  Mary 

Catherine  Judd. 
The  Story  of  Ruth  and  Naomi.     "For  the  Children's 

Hour, ' '  Bailey  and  Lewis. 
The   Story  of  the  First  Corn.     "For  the   Children's 

Hour, ' '  Bailey  and  Lewis. 
How  the  Fir  Tree  Became  the  Christmas  Tree.     "For 

the  Children's  Hour,"  Bailey  and  Lewis. 
Mrs.  Santa  Claus.    "For  the  Children's  Hour,"  Bailey 

and  Lewis. 
The  Coming  of  the  King.    "For  the  Children's  Hour," 

Bailey  and  Lewis. 
A  Christmas  Legend.    "  'Tell  It  Again'  Stories,"  Dil- 

lingham  and  Emerson. 
The  Kitten  That  Wanted  to  Be  a  Christmas  Present. 

"  'Tell  It  Again'  Stories,"  Dillingham  and  Emerson. 
A  Hallowe  'en  Story.    ' '  '  Tell  It  Again '  Stories, ' '  Dilling- 
ham and  Emerson. 
A  Boy's  Visit  to  Santa  Claus.    "Some  Great  Stories  and 

How  to  Tell  Them,"  Richard  T.  Wyche. 
Young  Washington  and  the  Colt.     "Good  Stories  for 

Great  Holidays, ' '  Frances  Jenkins  Olcott. 
The  Three  Little  Butterfly  Brothers.    "Good  Stories  for 

Great  Holidays,"  Frances  Jenkins  Olcott. 
The  Stream  That  Ran  Away.    "The  Basket  Woman," 

Mary  Austin. 


276  STORY-TELLING 

Biblical  and  Ethical. 

The  Master  of  the  Land  of  the  Nile.  "Old  Stories  of 
the  East,"  James  Baldwin. 

The  Garden  of  Delight,  "Old  Stories  of  the  East," 
James  Baldwin. 

The  Two  Brothers.  "Old  Stories  of  the  East,"  James 
Baldwin. 

The  Shepherd  Boy  who  Became  King.  "Old  Stories  of 
the  East,"  James  Baldwin. 

The  Open  Gate.    ' '  Mother  Stories, ' '  Maud  Lindsay. 

Dust  Under  the  Rug.    "Mother  Stories,"  Maud  Lindsay. 

Wishing  Wishes.  "More  Mother  Stories,"  Maud  Lind- 
say. 

Humorous. 

The  Elephant  Child.  "Just  So  Stories,"  Rudyard  Kip- 
ling. 

How  the  Camel  Got  His  Hump.  "Just  So  Stories," 
Rudyard  Kipling. 

The  Hobyahs.    "Firelight  Stories,"  Carolyn  S.  Bailey. 

The  Little  Old  Woman  who  Went  to  the  North  Wind. 
"Firelight  Stories,"  Carolyn  S.  Bailey. 

Why  the  Tail  of  the  Fox  Has  a  White  Tip.  "The  Book 
of  Nature  Myths,"  Florence  Holbrook. 

_  .      _  .  GRADE  III 

Fairy  Tales. 

Jack  and  the  Bean  Stalk.  "Hero  Folk  of  Ancient 
Britain,"  Sara  E.  Wiltse. 

Jack,  the  Giant  Killer.  ' '  Hero  Folk  of  Ancient  Britain, ' ' 
Sara  E.  Wiltse. 

Tom  Thumb.  "Hero  Folk  of  Ancient  Britain,"  Sara  E. 
Wiltse. 

The  Sunshine  Fairies.  Storytellers'  Magazine,  Novem- 
ber, 1913. 


STORIES  FOR  TELLING  277 

Jack  and  His  Brothers.     Storytellers'  Magazine,  July, 

1914. 
The  Lad  who  Went  to  the  North  Wind.     Storytellers' 

Magazine,  March,  1914. 
The  Seven  Ravens.    Storytellers'  Magazine,  September, 

1914. 

Jack  and  Jill's  Visit  to  the  Moon.     Storytellers'  Mag- 
azine, September,  1914. 

The  Enchanted  Princess.    Storytellers'  Magazine,  Octo- 
ber, 1914. 
East  of  the  Sun  and  West  of  the  Moon.     "The  Blue 

Fairy  Book,"  Andrew  Lang. 
The  Waterfall  which  Flowed  Sake.     "Japanese   Folk 

Stories  and  Fairy  Tales, ' '  Mary  F.  Nixon-Roulet. 
The  Painter  of  Cats.    ' '  Japanese  Folk  Stories  and  Fairy 

Tales,"  Mary  F.  Nixon-Roulet. 
Freya's  Necklace.    "Asgard  Stories,"  Foster  and  Cum- 

mings. 
Tyr  and  the  Wolf.    ' '  Asgard  Stories, ' '  Foster  and  Cum- 

mings. 

Norse  Stories,  Hamilton  W.  Mabie. 
The  Mirror  of  Matsuyama.     "Japanese  Fairy  Tales," 

Teresa  Williston.    First  Series. 
The  Stolen  Charm.     "Japanese  Fairy  Tales,"  Teresa 

Williston,    First  Series. 
The  Fairy  Bird.    "Story-Telling  in  Home  and  School," 

E.  N.  and  G.  E.  Partridge. 
Lox  and  the  Bear.    ' '  Story-Telling  in  Home  and  School, ' ' 

E.  N.  and  G.  E.  Partridge. 

Nature  and  Animal  Stories. 

The  Death  of  Baldur.     "Story-Telling  in   Home  and 
School,"  E.  N.  and  G.  E.  Partridge. 


278  STORY-TELLING 

The  Goddess  of  Green-Growing  Things.    ' '  Japanese  Folk 

Stories  and  Fairy  Tales,"  Mary  F.  Nixon-Roulet. 
The  Miraculous  Pitcher.    "A  Wonder  Book,"  Nathaniel 

Hawthorne. 
What  Was  Her  Name?    "Five  Minute  Stories,"  Laura 

E.  Richards. 
Mother  Teal  and  the  Overland  Route.     "Lives  of  the 

Hunted,"  Ernest  Thompson  Seton. 
Why  the  Peacock's  Tail  Has  a  Hundred  Eyes.     "The 

Book  of  Nature  Myths,"  Florence  Holbrook. 
Why  the  Rabbit  Is  Timid.  ' '  The  Book  of  Nature  Myths, ' ' 

Florence  Holbrook. 
How  Fire  Was  Brought  to  the  Indians.    "The  Book  of 

Nature  Myths,"  Florence  Holbrook. 
The  Lilac  Bush.     "Riverside  Fourth  Reader." 
The  Girl  who  Became  a  Pine  Tree.    ' '  Wigwam  Stories, ' ' 

Mary  Catherine  Judd. 
The  First  Rabbits.     "Japanese  Fairy   Tales,"   Teresa 

Williston.    Second  Series. 

Ethical  and  Biblical. 

The  Cap  That  Mother  Made.  "For  the  Story  Teller," 
Carolyn  Bailey. 

The  Golden  Windows.  "The  Golden  Windows,"  Laura 
E.  Richards. 

About  Angels.  "The  Golden  Windows,"  Laura  E.  Rich- 
ards. 

The  Ten  Fairies.  "Stories  to  Tell  to  Children,"  Sara 
Cone  Bryant. 

The  Miracle  of  Love.  Storytellers'  Magazine,  November, 
1913. 

The  Search  for  a  Good  Child.  "Mother  Stories,"  Maud 
Lindsay. 


STORIES  FOR  TELLING  279 

The  Two  Paths.  "More  Mother  Stories,"  Maud  Lind- 
say. 

The  Broken  Window  Pane.  "More  Mother  Stories," 
Maud  Lindsay. 

The  Story  of  Nehemiah.  "For  the  Children's  Hour," 
Bailey  and  Lewis. 

The  Great  Chief.  "Old  Stories  of  the  East,"  James 
Baldwin. 

The  Cripple  at  the  Beautiful  Gate.  "World  Stories  Re- 
told, "  William  J.  Sly. 

The  Girl  who  Knew  She  Was  Eight.  "World  Stories 
Retold,"  William  J.  Sly. 

The  Prisoner  and  the  Shipwreck.  "World  Stories  Re- 
told," William  J.  Sly. 

The  Slave  who  Ran  Away  from  His  Master.  "World 
Stories  Retold,"  William  J.  Sly. 

Holiday  Stories. 

The  Christmas  Visitor.  Storytellers'  Magazine,  Decem- 
ber, 1913. 

Little  Gretchen  and  the  Wooden  Shoe.  Storytellers' 
Magazine,  December,  1914. 

The  First  Christmas  Tree.  "The  Blue  Flower,"  Henry 
Van  Dyke. 

The  Spirit  of  the  Corn.  "Good  Stories  for  Great  Hol- 
idays," Frances  Jenkins  Olcott. 

The  Nutcracker  Dwarf.  "Good  Stories  for  Great  Hol- 
idays," Frances  Jenkins  Olcott. 

The  Stranger  Child.  "Good  Stories  for  Great  Hol- 
idays," Frances  Jenkins  Olcott. 

A  Lesson  in  Faith.  "Parables  from  Nature,"  Margaret 
Gatty. 


280  STORY-TELLING 

Humorous  Stories. 

The  Little  Jackal  and  the  Alligator.  ' '  Stories  to  Tell  to 
Children, ' '  Sara  Cone  Bryant. 

The  Brahmin,  the  Tiger  and  the  Jackal.  ' '  Stories  to  Tell 
to  Children,"  Sara  Cone  Bryant. 

The  Grandmother  of  the  Dolls.  "Little  Mr.  Thimble- 
finger,"  Joel  Chandler  Harris. 

How  Brother  Bear's  Hair  Was  Combed.  "Little  Mr. 
Thimblefinger, "  Joel  Chandler  Harris. 

GRADE  IV 
Fairy  Tales. 

Tom,  the  Water  Baby.  "The  Water  Babies,"  Charles 
Kinsley. 

Old  Pipes  and  the  Dryad.  ' '  Story  Telling,  What  to  Tell 
and  How  to  Tell  It, ' '  Edna  Lyman. 

Barney  Noonan's  Fairy  Haymakers.  Storytellers'  Mag- 
azine, October,  1913. 

Cally  Coo-Coo  o'  the  Woods.  Storytellers'  Magazine, 
October,  1913. 

The  Happy  Hunter  and  the  Lucky  Fisherman.  Story- 
tellers' Magazine)  February,  1914. 

The  Wise  and  the  Foolish  Merchant.  Storytellers'  Mag- 
azine, April,  1914. 

How  Momek  Rode  the  Fire  Horse.  Storytellers'  Mag- 
azine, May,  1914. 

The  Little  Cowherd  Brother.  "Story-Telling  in  Home 
and  School,"  E.  N.  and  G.  E.  Partridge. 

Adventures  of  Theseus.  "Story-Telling  in  Home  and 
School,"  E.  N.  and  G.  E.  Partridge. 

Peach  Darling.  "Japanese  Fairy  Tales,"  Teresa  Wil- 
liston.  Second  Series. 

King  Midas'  Ears.  "The  Art  of  Story-Telling, "  Julia 
Darrow  Cowles. 


STORIES  FOR  TELLING  281 

Princess  Moonbeam.    ' '  Japanese  Folk  Stories  and  Fairy 

Tales, ' '  Mary  F.  Nixon-Eoulet. 
The  Two  Brothers.    "Japanese  Folk  Stories  and  Fairy 

Tales, ' '  Mary  F.  Nixon-Roulet. 
The   Boastful   Bamboo.     "Japanese   Folk   Stories  and 

Fairy  Tales,"  Mary  F.  Nixon-Roulet. 
The  Story  of  Rhoecus.     Storytellers'  Magazine,  June, 

1914. 

Nature  and  Animal  Stories. 

Legend  of  the  Yucca  Plant.     Storytellers'  Magazine, 

July,  1914. 

The  Twelve  Months,  Storytellers'  Magazine,  June,  1913. 
The  Nightingale.    "Stories  to  Tell  to  Children,"  Sara 

Cone  Bryant. 
The  Gulls  of  Salt  Lake.    "Stories  to  Tell  to  Children," 

Sara  Cone  Bryant. 
How  Summer  Came  to  Earth.     "The  Book  of  Nature 

Myths,"  Florence  Holbrook. 
Why  the  Water  in  Rivers  Is  Never  Still.    "The  Book  of 

Nature  Myths,"  Florence  Holbrook. 
The  Story  of  Wylie.    ' '  How  to  Tell  Stories  to  Children, ' ' 

Sara  Cone  Bryant. 

The  Strange  Story  of  a  Wonderful  Sea  God.  Storytel- 
lers' Magazine,  September,  1914. 

Holiday  Stories. 

Paulina's  Christmas.  Storytellers'  Magazine,  Decem- 
ber, 1913. 

The  Christmas  Bells.  Storytellers'  Magazine,  Decem- 
ber, 1914. 

The  Little  Picture  Girl.  Storytellers'  Magazine,  Decem- 
ber, 1914. 

Why  the  Chimes  Rang,  Raymond  M.  Alden. 


282  STOEY-TELLING 

How  Indian  Corn  Came  into  the  World.  ' '  Good  Stories 
for  Great  Holidays,"  Frances  J.  Olcott. 

The  Christmas  Cuckoo.  "Good  Stories  for  Great  Hol- 
idays, ' '  Frances  J.  Olcott. 

The  Christmas  Fairy  of  Strasburg.  "Good  Stories  for 
Great  Holidays,"  Frances  J.  Olcott. 

Little  Piccola.  "Good  Stories  for  Great  Holidays," 
Frances  J.  Olcott. 

The  King's  Birthday.  "Mother  Stories,"  Maud  Lind- 
say. 

Biblical  and  Ethical  Stories. 

The  Story  of  the  Boy  Abraham.   ' '  Story- Telling  in  Home 

and  School, "  E.  N.  and  G.  E.  Partridge. 
The  Castle  on  the  Mountain.     Storytellers'  Magazine, 

March,  1914.     . 

The  Stone  Cutter.    Storytellers'  Magazine,  April,  1914. 
The  Knights  of  the  Silver  Shield.     "Why  the  Chimes 

Rang,"  Raymond  M.  Alden. 
The  Great  Lawgiver.    ' '  Old  Stories  of  the  East, ' '  James 

Baldwin. 
The  Idol  Breaker.     "Old  Stories  of  the  East,"  James 

Baldwin. 

Humorous. 

The  Cat  That  Walked  by  Himself.  "Just  So  Stories," 
Rudyard  Kipling. 

Brother  Terrapin's  Fiddle-String.  "Little  Mr.  Thimble- 
finger,"  Joel  Chandler  Harris. 

The  Witch  of  the  Well.  "Little  Mr.  Thimblefinger, " 
Joel  Chandler  Harris. 


STORIES  FOR  TELLING  283 

GRADE  V 

Fairy  Tales  and  Folk  Stories. 
How  the  Moon  Became  Beautiful.    "Chinese  Fables  and 

Folk  Stories,"  Davis  and  Clww-Leung. 
Woo  Sing  and  the  Mirror.    "Chinese  Fables  and  Folk 

Stories, ' '  Davis  and  Clww-Leung. 
A  Lesson  from  Confucius.    "Chinese  Fables  and  Folk 

Stories,"  Davis  and  Chow-Leung. 
The   Boastful   Bamboo.    "Japanese   Folk   Stories   and 

Fairy  Tales,"  Mary  F.  Nixon-Roulet. 
The  Choice  of  the  Princess.    "Japanese  Folk  and  Fairy 

Tales,"  Mary  F.  Nixon-Roulet. 

The  Sea  Maiden.    "Celtic  Fairy  Tales,"  Joseph  Jacobs. 
A  Legend  of  Knockmany.    ' '  Celtic  Fairy  Tales, ' '  Joseph 

Jacobs. 
Story  of  Shahrian  and  Sheherazade.    ' '  Arabian  Nights, ' ' 

arranged  by  Frances  J.  Olcott. 
Story  of  the  Magic  Horse.    ' '  Arabian  Nights, ' '  arranged 

by  Frances  J.  Olcott. 
Story  of  the  City  of  Brass.    ' '  Arabian  Nights, ' '  arranged 

by  Frances  J.  Olcott. 
Story  of  AH  Baba  and  the  Forty  Thieves.     "Arabian 

Nights,"  arranged  by  Frances  J.  Olcott. 
The  Boy  who  Could  Not  Tell  a  Lie.    Storytellers'  Mag- 
azine, May,  1914. 

Myths  and  Leg-ends. 

The  Story  of  Beowulf.    "Some  Great  Stories  and  How 

to  Tell  Them,"  Richard  T.  Wyche. 
The  Old  Man  who  Brought  Withered  Trees  to  Life. 

"Story  Telling,  What  to  Tell  and  How  to  Tell  It," 

Edna  Lyman. 


284  STOKY-TELLING 

Robin  and  the  Merry  Little  Old  Woman.    "Robin  Hood 

— His  Book, ' '  Eva  March  Tappan. 
Robin  Hood  and  Little  John.  ' '  Robin  Hood — His  Book. ' ' 

Eva  March  Tappan. 
Robin  Hood  and  the  Golden  Arrow.    ' '  Robin  Hood — His 

Book,"  Eva  March  Tappan. 
Robin  Hood  and  Sir  Guy  of  Gishorne.    "Robin  Hood— 

His  Book,"  Eva  March  Tappan. 
Robin's   Fast  Day.     "Robin  Hood— His   Book,"   Eva 

March  Tappan. 
Robin  Meets  His  Match.     "Robin  Hood— His  Book," 

Eva  March  Tappan. 
Robin  and  the  Monk.    "Robin  Hood — His  Book,"  Eva 

March  Tappan. 
Robin  and  Maid  Marian.     "Robin  Hood — His  Book/' 

Eva  March  Tappan. 
The  Stone  Lion.    ' '  Story-Telling  in  Home  and  School, ' ' 

E.  N.  and  G.  E.  Partridge. 
The  Face  of  the  Great  Manitou  in  the  Rock.    ' '  Wigwam 

Stories,"  Mary  Catherine  Judd. 
Weenk  the  Sleep-Bringer.     "Wigwam  Stories,"  Mary 

Catherine  Judd. 
Legend  of  Niagara  Falls.     "Wigwam  Stories,"  Mary 

Catherine  Judd. 

Myths  and  Legends. 

Iktomi  and  the  Ducks.    "Old  Indian  Legends,"  Zitkala- 

Sa. 
Iktomi  and  the  Coyote.    ' '  Old  Indian  Legends, ' '  Zitkala- 

Sa. 

The  Tree  Bound.    ' '  Old  Indian  Legends, ' '  Zitkala-Sa. 
Shooting  of  the  Red  Eagle.     "Old  Indian  Legends," 

Zitkala-Sa. 


STORIES  FOR  TELLING  285 

Iktomi  and  the  Turtle.    "Old  Indian  Legends,"  Zitkala- 

Sa. 
Manstin,  the  Rabbit.  ' '  Old  Indian  Legends, ' '  Zitkala-Sa. 

Hero  Stories. 

"William  Tell,"  George  P.  Upton. 
The  Festival  at  the  Meadow. 
Tell's  Home  in  Biirglen. 
Baumgarten's  Escape. 
Hifeli  and  the  Vulture. 
Stauffacher  and  His  Heroic  Wife. 
A  Blow  for  Freedom. 
In  Gessler's  Castle. 
The  Conference  at  Fiirst's  House. 
The  Fight  with  the  Vultures. 
The  Compact  on  the  Riitli  Meadow. 
The  Shot  at  the  Apple. 
Death  of  the  Tyrant. 
Freedom 's  New  Year. 

Historical  Stories. 

The  Story  of  a  Paper  Cutter.     Storytellers'  Magazinet 

October,  1913. 
"The  Last  Lesson,"  Alphonse  Daudet.    Adapted  in  Sara 

Cone  Bryant's  "How  to  Tell  Stories  to  Children." 
"Florence  Nightingale,"  Laura  E.  Richards. 
"Good  Stories  for  Great  Holidays,"  Frances  J.  Olcott. 

Betsy  Ross  and  the  Flag. 

The  Star- Spangled  Banner. 

The  Little  Drummer-Boy. 

Holiday  Stories. 

"Good  Stories  for  Great  Holidays,"  Frances  J.  Olcott. 
A  Child 's  Dream  of  a  Star. 


286  STOEY-TELLING 

The  Wooden  Shoes  of  Little  Wolff. 
The  King  of  the  Cats. 
The  First  Harvest  Home  in  Plymouth. 
In  the  Great  Walled  Country.  ' '  Why  the  Chimes  Rang, ' ' 
Raymond  M.  Alden. 

Nature  Stories. 

The  Crow  Family.    "The  Second  Book  of  Birds,"  Olive 

Thorne  Miller. 
The  Lark  Family.    "The  Second  Book  of  Birds,"  Olive 

Thome  Miller. 

A  Bear  on  Fire.    "True  Bear  Stories,"  Joaquin  Miller. 
The  Great  Grizzly  Bear.    ' '  True  Bear  Stories, ' '  Joaquin 

Miller. 
The   Bear   Monarch.     "True   Bear  Stories,"  Joaquin 

Miller. 
As  a  Humorist.    "True  Bear  Stories,"  Joaquin  Miller. 

Biblical  and  Ethical. 

Stories  of  the  Splendid  Sun.    ' '  Old  Stories  of  the  East, ' ' 

James  Baldwin. 

The  Story  of  Isaac.    Retold  by  Nellie  Margaret  Statler. 
Christ  in  the  Temple.    Retold  by  Nellie  Margaret  Statler. 
Merry  Twinkle  and  the  Dwarf.    Allen  Cross. 
The  Hunt  for  the  Beautiful.    "Why  the  Chimes  Rang, ' ' 

Raymond  M.  Alden. 
The  Palace  Made  by  Music.    "Why  the  Chimes  Rang," 

Raymond  M.  Alden. 

Humorous. 

How  Brother  Fox  Was  Too  Smart.    "Nights  with  Uncle 

Remus,"  Joel  Chandler  Harris. 
The  Story  of. Mr.  Coon.     "Plantation  Pageants,"  Joel 

Chandler  Harris. 


STORIES  FOR  TELLING  287 

The    Diamond    Mine.     "Plantation    Pageants,"    Joel 

Chandler  Harris. 
The  Golden  Goose.     "Tales  of  Laughter,"  Wiggin  and 

Smith. 

GRADE  VI 

Fairy  Tales  and  Folk  Stories. 

The  Princess  and  the  Fox  Baby.    ' '  Japanese  Folk  Stories 

and  Fairy  Tales,"  Mary  F.  Nixon-Roulet. 
The  Princess  of  the  Sea.     "Japanese  Folk  Stories  and 

Fairy  Tales,"  Mary  F.  Nixon-Roulet. 
The  Boastful  Bamboo.     "Japanese   Folk  Stories  and 

Fairy  Tales,"  Mary  F.  Nixon-Roulet. 
The  Sworded  Falcon.    "Japanese  Folk  Stories  and  Fairy 

Tales, ' '  Mary  F.  Nixon-Roulet. 
The  Snail  and  the  Bees.     "Chinese  Fables  and  Folk 

Stories,"  Davis  and  Chow-Leung." 
The  Eagle  and  the  Rice  Birds.     "Chinese  Fables  and 

Folk  Stories,"  Davis  and  Chow-Leung. 
The  Language  of  the  Birds.     Storytellers'  Magazine, 

October,  1914. 
Story  of  Ali  Bey  the  Persian.    Storytellers'  Magazine, 

November,  1914. 

Myths  and  Legends. 

"Glooscap,  the  Great  Chief,  and  Other  Stories,"  E.  N. 

Partridge. 

The  Star  Wives. 

The  Ice  King. 

The  Forest  Maiden. 
' '  "Wigwam  Stories, ' '  Mary  Catherine  Judd. 

Wampum,  or  Indian  Money. 

How  the  Copper  Mountain  Came  to  Fall. 

A  Rip  Van  Winkle. 


288  STORY-TELLING 

The  Banyan  Deer  King.    "Story-Telling  in  Home  arid 

School,"  E.  N.  and  G.  E.  Partridge. 
The  Judgment  Seat  of  Vikramaditya.    "Story-Telling  in 

Home  and  School,"  E.  N.  and  G.  E.  Partridge. 


GRADE  VI 

1  The  Story  of  King  Arthur, ' '  Winona  C.  Martin. 

Merlin  and  His  Prophecies. 

How  Arthur  Won  His  Kingdom. 

How  Arthur  Won  His  Sword,  ' '  Excaliber, ' '  His  Bride 
and  His  Round  Table. 

The  Adventures  of  Gareth,  the  Kitchen  Knave. 

The  Adventures  of  Geraint. 

The  Adventures  of  Tristram,  the  Forest  Knight. 

The  Adventures  of  Lancelot  of  the  Lake. 

The  Dolorous  Stroke. 

The  Coming  of  Galahad. 

The  Quest  of  San  Greal. 

The  Achieving  of  the  San  Greal. 

The  Passing  of  Arthur. 
'Myths   Every   Child   Should   Know,"   Hamilton    W. 

Mabie. 

The  Pomegranate. 

The  Miraculous  Pitcher. 

The  Giant  Builder. 

The  Apples  of  Idun. 

The  Star  and  the  Lily. 
'Legends  Every  Child  Should  Know,"  Hamilton  W. 

Mabie. 

Hiawatha. 

Childe  Horn. 


STORIES  FOR  TELLING  289 

Historical  Stories. 

' '  Good  Stories  for  Great  Holidays, ' '  Frances  J.  Olcott. 

Two  Hero  Stories  of  the  Civil  War. 

General  Scott  and  the  Stars  and  Stripes. 

Capture  of  Fort  Ticonderoga. 
"Heroines  Every  Child  Should  Know,"  Hamilton  W. 

Mabie  and  Kate  Stephens. 

Joan  of  Arc. 

Sister  Dora. 
"Heroes  Every   Child   Should  Know,"   Hamilton   W. 

Mabie. 

George  Washington. 

Abraham  Lincoln. 
•'Story-Telling  in  Home  and  School,"  E.  N.  and  G.  E. 

Partridge. 

The  Ride  of  Paul  Revere. 

Holiday. 

The  Christmas  Rose.  "Good  Stories  for  Great  Hol- 
idays," Frances  J.  Olcott. 

The  Three  Kings  of  Cologne.  "Good  Stories  for  Great 
Holidays,"  Frances  J.  Olcott. 

The  Master  of  the  Harvest.  "Parables  from  Nature," 
Margaret  Gatty. 

How  Santa  Glaus  Came  to  Simpson's  Bar.  "The  Luck 
of  Roaring  Camp,"  Bret  Harte. 

The  Boy  who  Discovered  the  Spring.  "Why  the  Chimes 
Rang,"  Raymond  M.  Alden. 

The  Phantom  Cats.  "Japanese  Folk  Stories  and  Fairy 
Tales,"  Mary  F.  Nixon-Boulet. 

Nature. 

The  Badger  and  the  Birds.  "Glooscap,  the  Great  Chief, 
and  Other  Stories,"  E.  N.  Partridge. 


290  STORY-TELLING 

How  the  Badger  Made  the  Magical  Fire.    "Glooscap, 

the  Great  Chief,  and  Other  Stories,"  E.  N.  Partridge. 
"Wild  Animals  at  Home,"  Ernest  Thompson  Seton. 

The  Cute  Coyote. 

Ghosts  of  the  Campfire. 

Sneak  Cats,  Big  and  Small. 

Bears  of  High  and  Low  Degree. 

Biblical  and  Ethical. 

David  and  Jonathan.    Retold  by  Nellie  Margaret  Statler. 

Seek  and  Ye  Shall  Find.  Storytellers'  Magazine,  Sep- 
tember, 1913. 

The  Happy  Prince.  "The  Happy  Prince  and  Other- 
Fairy  Tales,"  Oscar  Wilde. 

The  Selfish  Giant.  "The  Happy  Prince  and  Other 
Fairy  Tales,"  Oscar  Wilde. 

The  Minstrel 's  Song.    ' '  Mother  Stories, ' '  Maud  Lindsay. 

Giant  Energy  and  Fairy  Skill.  ' '  Mother  Stories, ' '  Maud 
Lindsay. 

The  Wedding  Guests.  "The  Golden  Windows,"  Laura 
E.  Richards. 

Humorous. 

Miss  Cow  Falls  a  Victim  to  Mr.  Rabbit.  ' '  Uncle  Remus, 
His  Songs  and  His  Sayings, ' '  Joel  Chandler  Harris. 

Old  Mr.  Rabbit,  He 's  a  Good  Fisherman.  ' '  Uncle  Remus, 
His  Songs  and  His  Sayings, ' '  Joel  Chandler  Harris. 

The  Taileypo.    Storytellers'  Magazine,  June,  1913. 

GRADE  VII 

Fairy  Tales  and  Folk  Stories. 

The  Angel's  Robe.  "Japanese  Folk  Stories  and  Fairy 
Tales,"  Mary  Nixon-Roulet. 


STORIES  FOR  TELLING  291 

"Chinese  Fables  and  Folk  Stories,"  Davis  and  Clww- 

Leung. 

A  Chinese  Prodigal  Son. 

The  Fa-Nien-Ts'ing  and  the  Mon-Tien-Sing. 
The  Silly  Son.    "Glooscap,  the  Great  Chief,  and  Other 

Stories, ' '  E.  N.  Partridge. 
The  Magical  Belt.     "Glooscap,   the   Great   Chief,   and 

Other  Stories,"  E.  N.  Partridge. 
The   Basket  Woman.     "The   Basket   Woman."   Manj 

Austin. 
The  Merry-Go-Round.     "The   Basket  Woman."  Mary 

Austin. 

Myths  and  Legends. 

"Glooscap,  the  Great  Chief,  and  Other  Stories." 

How  Glooscap  Found  the  Summer. 

How  Glooscap  Conquered  His  Enemies. 

The  Return  of  Glooscap. 

How  Glooscap  Transformed  the  Indian. 

How  Glooscap  Defeated  the  Sorcerers. 

How  Glooscap  Was  Conquered  by  Wasis. 

How  the  Indians  Sought  the  Great  Chief. 
The  Story  of  Saint  Christopher,  Richard  T.  Wyche. 
"In  God's  Garden."  Amy  Steedman. 

Saint  Martin. 

Saint  Ursula. 

Saint  Francis  of  Assisi. 

Saint  Nicholas. 
"Myths    Every   Child    Should   Know,"    Hamilton    W. 

Mabie. 

The  Three  Golden  Apples. 

The  Dragon's  Teeth. 

The  Paradise  of  Children. 


292  STORY-TELLING 

Historical. 

"Beethoven's    Moonlight    Sonata,"    Catherine    Turner 

Bryce. 
"Stories  of  Great  Musicians,"  Scobey  and  Home. 

John  Sebastian  Bach. 

Ludwig  Van  Beethoven. 

Felix  Mendelssohn. 

Richard  Wagner. 
A  Rose  from  Homer's  Grave.     Storytellers'  Magazine, 

July,  1913. 

Endymion.    Storytellers'  Magazine,  July,  1913. 
Story  of  England's  First  Poet.    Storytellers'  Magazine, 

July,  1913. 
Grace  Darling.    ' '  Heroines  Every  Child  Should  Know, ' ' 

H.  W.  Mabie  and  Kate  Stephens. 
Robert  Bruce.     "Heroes  Every  Child  Should  Know," 

H.  W.  Mabie. 
Robert  E.  Lee.    "Heroes  Every  Child  Should  Know," 

H.  W.  Mabie. 
Storytellers'  Magazine,  December,  1913. 

Blind  Bartimaeus. 

Christmas  Eve  with  the  Seven  Poor  Travelers. 
' '  Christ  Legends, ' '  Selma  Lagerlof. 

The  Holy  Night. 

The  Wise  Men's  Well. 

Robin  Redbreast. 

Our  Lord  and  Saint  Peter. 

The  Horn  of  Plenty. 
The  Christmas  Thorn  of  Glastonbury.     "Good  Stories 

for  Great  Holidays. ' '  Frances  J.  Olcott. 
The  Handful  of  Clay.    "The  Blue  Flower,"  Henry  Van 

Dyke. 
The  Brook  in  the  King's  Garden.     "Why  the  Chimes 

Rang,"  Raymond  M.  Alden. 


STORIES  FOR  TELLING  293 

Nature  Stories. 

"Just  So  Stories,"  Rudyard  Kipling. 

How  the  Leopard  Got  His  Spots. 

The  Cat  that  Walked  by  Himself. 
"The  Jungle  Book,"  Rudyard  Kipling. 

Mowgli's  Brothers. 

Kaa's  Hunting. 

Rilki  Tikki  Tavi. 
"The  Second  Jungle  Book,"  Rudyard  Kipling, 

How  Fear  Came. 

Letting  in  the  Jungle. 

Red  Dog. 

The  Spring  Running. 
"Wild  Life  on  the  Rockies,"  Enos  A.  Mills. 

The  Story  of  a  Thousand  Year  Pine. 

The  Wilds  Without  Firearms. 

Bob  and  Some  Other  Birds. 
"In  the  Beaver  World,"  Enos  A.  Mitts. 

Our  Friend  the  Beaver. 

Biblical  and  Ethical. 

The  Great  Teacher.    "Some  Great  Stories  and  How  to 
Tell  Them,"  Richard  T.  Wyche. 

Queen  Esther  and  the  Feast  of  Purim.     Adapted  by 
Nellie  Margaret  Statler. 

The  Story  of  Ruth  and  Naomi.    Adapted  by  Nellie  Mar- 
garet Statler. 

Where  Love  Is,  There  God  Is  Also.    Count  Tolstoy. 

The  Great  Stone  Face.    ' '  For  the  Story  Teller, ' '  Carolyn 
8.  Bailey. 

The  Star  Child.    "The  Happy  Prince  and  Other  Fairy 
Tales,"  Oscar  Wilde. 

' '  The  Golden  Windows, ' '  Laura  E.  Richards. 
From  a  Far  Country. 


294  STORY-TELLING 

The  Prominent  Man. 
The  Wheat  Field. 

Humorous. 

"Wee  Willie  Winkie,"  Rudyard  Kipling. 

"Uncle  Remus  and  His  Friends,"  Joel  Chandler  Harris. 

Why  the  Hawk  Catches  Chickens. 

Where  the  Hurrycane  Comes  From. 

Why  the  Moon's  Face  Is  Smutty. 

Uncle  Remus  at  the  Telephone. 

GRADE  VIII 
Fairy  Tales. 

"The  Children's  Bluebird,"  Madame  Maurice  Maeter- 
linck. 

"Peter  Pan  in  Kensington  Gardens,"  James  Barrie. 
' '  The  King  of  the  Golden  River, ' '  John  Buskin. 

Myths  and  Leg-ends. 

' '  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal, ' '  James  Russell  Lowell. 
The    Search    for    the    Grail,    "Idylls    of    the    King," 

Henry  W.  Longfellow. 
"Stories  of  Wagner  Operas,   Told  for  the  Children," 

Elizabeth  M.  Wheelock. 

Parsifal. 

Lohengrin. 

The  Mastersingers. 

The  Rhinegold. 

The  Walkyries. 

Siegfried. 

The  Dusk  of  the  Gods. 

The  Flying  Dutchman. 
"Legends  Every  Child  Should  Know,"  Hamilton   W. 

Mabie. 

Rustem  and  Sohrab. 


STORIES  FOR  TELLING  295 

The  Wandering  Jew. 

Rip  Van  Winkle. 

The  Gray  Champion. 

The  Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow. 

Historical. 

"The  Wonder  Workers,"  Mary  H.  Wade. 

The  Flower  Magician — Burbank. 

The  Magician  of  Touch — Helen  Keller. 

The  Magician  of  Sound — Edison. 

The  Magician  of  Friendship — Jane  Addams. 

The  Magician  of  Love — Grenfell. 
"Bamboo,  Tales  of  the  Orient-Born,"  Lyon  Sharman. 

A  Little  Daughter  of  the  Gospel. 

The  Home-Made  Flag. 

Progress  and  Prodigy. 

White  Pants. 

Orient-Born. 

Holiday  Stories. 

"The  Blue  Flower,"  Henry  Van  Dyke. 

The  Other  Wise  Man. 

The  Lost  Word. 

The  Mansion. 
' '  Good  Stories  for  Great  Holidays, ' '  Frances  J.  Olcott. 

The  Phantom  Knight  of  the  Vandal  Camp. 

The  Christmas  Rose. 

' '  The  Perfect  Tribute, ' '  Mary  Shipman  Andrews. 
1 '  Christ  Legends, ' '  Selma  Lagerlof. 

The  Emperor's  Vision. 

The  Flight  Into  Egypt. 

In  the  Temple. 

Saint  Veronica's  Kerchief. 

The  Sacred  Flame. 
*'A  Christmas  Carol,"  Charles  Dickens. 


296  STOEY-TELLING 

Nature  Stories. 

"In  the  Beaver  World,"  Enos  A.  Mills. 

The  Beaver  Past  and  Present. 

The  Beaver  Dam. 

The  Primitive  House. 

Beaver  Pioneers. 

The  Original  Conservationist. 
"Wild  Life  on  the  Rockies,"  Enos  A.  Mills. 

A  Watcher  on  the  Heights. 

Climbing  Long's  Peak. 

Kinnikinick. 

Biblical  and  Ethical. 

The  Prodigal  Son.    Adapted  by  Nellie  Margaret  Statler. 
Helping  the  Master,  Evelyn  Harrison. 
The  Vision  of  Anton  the  Clockmaker,  Walter  A.  Dyer. 
The  Closing  Door.    ' '  Mother  Stories, ' '  Maud  Lindsay. 
The  Choice  of  Hercules.    "Good  Stories  for  Great  Hol- 
idays," Frances  J.  Olcott. 

Humorous. 

How  the  Whale  Got  His  Throat.     "Just  So  Stories," 

Budyard  Kipling. 
The  Sing-Song  of  Old  Man  Kangaroo.  ' '  Just  So  Stories, ' ' 

Rudyard  Kipling. 
Brother  Bear  and  the  Honey  Orchard.    "Uncle  Remus 

and  His  Friends,"  Joel  Chandler  Harris. 
How  Mr.  Rabbit  Lost  His  Fine  Bushy  Tail.     "Uncle 

Remus,  His  Songs  and  His  Sayings,"  Joel  Chandler 

Harris 


Alden,  Raymond  M.,  61,  62. 

Alsace-Lorraine,  16. 

Angelo,  Michael,  175,  176,  177. 

Aphrodite,  55. 

Apollo,  55,  178. 

Apron  String,  The,  62. 

Arachne,  54. 

Asgard,  55. 

Aurora,  178. 

Balder,  55. 

Barber,  Grace  Edson,  59. 

Barrie,  Sir  James,  51. 

Beowulf,  58. 

Blackmore,  102. 

Blue  Bird,  The,  51,  52. 

Boy  Scouts,  195. 

Bonheur,  Rosa,  181. 

Brer  Rabbit,  17,  38. 

Breton,  181. 

Bryant,  Sara  Cone,  16. 

Bryce,  Catherine  Twiner,  137. 

Campflre  Girls,  195. 

Christ,  among  the  Doctors,  186. 

Life  Cycle  of,  66. 

Picture  Study  of,  175. 
Christmas,  19. 
Cid,  58. 

Cinderella,  39,  51. 
Closing  Door,  The,  62,  255. 
Columbus,  59. 
Corot,  181,  183. 
Correggio,  175,  178,  185. 
Cross,  Allen,  153,  239. 


David  Copperfleld,  18,  102. 
Da  Vinci,   Leonardo,  175,   176, 

185. 

Daudet,  Alphonse,  16. 
Dickens,  18,  102. 
Dyer,  Walter  A.,  62,  249. 

Easter,  19. 

Field,   Walter  Taylor,   20. 
Frithiof,  58. 
Frost  Giants,  55. 

Galahad,  Sir,  39. 
Geography,  16. 
Gingerbread  Boy,  The,  11. 
Golden  Windows,  62. 
Grail,  Picture  Study  of,  201-207. 
Great  Stone  Face,  The,  41. 
Greeks,  54,  55. 

Handful  of  Clay,  A,  19,  37. 
Happy  Prince,  The,  15. 
Harris,  Joel  Chandler,  18. 
Harrison,  Eveleen,  94. 
Hoffman,  186,  187. 
How  to  Show  Pictures  to  Chil- 
dren, 185. 

Hunt  for  the  Beautiful,  The,  62. 
Kuril,  Estelle,  185. 

Indian,  Myths  of,  56,  57. 
King  Arthur,  58,  59,  201. 


297 


298 


INDEX 


Lagerlof,  Selma,  128. 

Landseer,  180,  181,  182. 

Last  Lesson,  The,  16. 

Law,  Scout,  196;  Campfire,  198. 

Lindsay,  Maud,  62,  255. 

Lohengrin,  39,  59. 

Loki,  55. 

Lorna  Doone,  102. 

Madonnas,  176,  177. 
Maeterlinck,  51,  52. 
Merry  Twinkle  and  the  Dwarf, 

108. 

Miller,  Joaquin,  44. 
Millet,  181,  183,  186. 
Moffat,  Ida  M.,  25. 
Moses,  63,  64. 
Mother      Stories,      62;      More 

Mother  Stories,  62. 
Murillo,  178,  179,  186. 

Newton,  Isaac,  and  the  Apple, 

16. 
Nightingale  and  the  Rose,  The, 

57. 

Nightingale,  Florence,  61. 
Norse  Myths,  55. 

Odin,  55. 

Old  Woman  and  Her  Pig,  The, 
11. 

Palace  Raised  by   Music,  The, 

61. 

Parkman,  Francis,  60. 
Parsifal,  55. 
Peter,  68. 
Peter  Pan,  41,  51. 
Phelps,  Elizabeth  Stuart,  163. 
Pickthall,  Marjorie  L.  C.,  145. 
Pig  Brother,  The,  14. 


Piggy  Pennington,  18. 
Potter,  Paul,  180. 
Primer,  New  England,  12. 
Princess    and    the    Vagabone, 

The,  36. 
Prominent  Man,  The,  14,  62. 

Raphael,   175,   176,   177,   185. 
Rembrandt,  180,  186. 
Reni,  Guido,  115,  178,  185. 
Reynolds,  180,  186. 
Richards,  Laura  E.,  14,  37,  61, 

62. 

Robin  Hood,  58. 
Roland,  58. 
Rubens,  179,  185. 
Rustum,  58. 

Sawyer,  Ruth,  36. 

Scott,  102. 

Scudder,  Horace,  28. 

Selfish  Giant,  51,  258. 

Sharman,  Lyon,  157. 

Siegfried,  58,  59. 

Spears,  Raymond  S.,  233. 

Star  Child,  The,  51. 

Statler,  Nellie  Margaret,  69,  71, 

73,   76,   79,   82,   85,   91,   98, 

186. 

Steedman,  Amy,  116,  122. 
Stevenson,  18,  102. 
Stockton,  Frank  R.,  219. 

Tell,  William,  58. 

Thackeray,  18. 

Thor,  55. 

Titian,  175,  177,  178,  185. 

Tolstoy,  Count  Lyof  N.,  15,  207. 

Treasure  Island,  18. 

Troyon,  181,  182. 

Turner,  180,  186. 

Twain,  Mark,  1C      R.P.H.  5-^2 


INDEX  299 

Uncle  Remus,  17,  36,  37,  38.  Wagner  Opera   Stories,  59. 

Watt,  James,  and  the  Giant  un- 

Valasquez,  178,  179,  186.  der  the  Teakettle  Lid,  16. 

Van  Dyck,  Anthony,  180,  183,      Where  Love  Is,  There  God  Is 

186.  Also,  15,  207. 

Van  Dyke,  19,  37.  Why  the  Chimes  Rang,  60. 

Verrocchio,  175.  Why    the    Robin    Has    a    Red 

Vision    of    Anton    the    Clock-  Breast,  56. 

Maker,  The,  62,  107,  249.          Wilde,  Oscar,  15,  51,  57,  258. 

Wonder  Workers,  60. 
Wade,  Mary  H.,  60.  Wyche,  Richard  Thomas,  188. 


DATE 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGXDNAL  LBRARY  FAOUTY 


A    000915092     1 


